Soulmate Shorts AKA The Crackship Armada
by ozhawk
Summary: Short stories set in a soulmates AU where various members of the Agents of SHIELD are paired with Avengers, X-Men and other MCU characters. Rated T for language. 'Pair pics' are now posted with the corresponding chapters over on Ao3 (can't implant them here) if you need help with visualisation!
1. Introduction & Index

So, I've become somewhat addicted to amusewithaview's Soul Mates AU. And, because I am trying to challenge myself to get a bit less long-winded and carried away by the plot fairies every time I write, each pairing chapter (possibly the odd triad) in this fic is intended to be no more than 1,000 words (some may be a lot less).

If you don't already know, the premise of this AU is that the first words soulmates say to each other appear somewhere on the skin of each partner, in the handwriting of the other. The younger partner is born with the words, the older receives the words the moment the younger one is born. Asgardians are a bit different (in my AU) – their soulmarks are triggered by touch.

Amusewithaview has already written an amazing chapter fic about Darcy Lewis and her possible soulmates called _**Write Love On My Skin**_. This is intended to be my version, but mixing and matching members of the Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. cast with various Avengers, X-Men and other MCU characters.

I've also included entertainingly badly Photoshopped images of each pairing by me, in the hope that they might help you to visualise the characters together... hope they don't offend too much! I've also added my own cheesy hair rock (mostly) soundtrack for which I am entirely blaming Peter Quill. Each pairing has a theme song advised in the beginning notes - for maximum feels cue up the song and listen while you read!

These are the first meetings of soulmates, so sexual contact is implied in the future, but won't be written in, although there's a few kisses – okay, Tony Stark broke that plan, but it's not explicit. This is still rated T. (Some of the sequels aren't – be careful if you don't want to read smut).

I've created a poll for you to vote in, for which pairings you'd like me to write first. You get up to TEN votes in the current version. They are written STRICTLY in order of most votes to least. If you want to see other pairings than those on the Poll you can ask, but bear in mind that I won't write those that are contradicted in MCU canon – so generally it's restricted to people who haven't 'met' onscreen.

Now that there are 50+ of these written, it's been pointed out to me that an index would be useful, particularly for those reading on their phones where full chapter titles don't appear. Therefore, here's an index which I will endeavour to update every few fics… and include details of sequels.

Soulmate Shorts Index by chapter number:

1. Introduction/Index

2. Jemma/Clint

3. Skye/Johnny Storm

4. Hunter/Darcy Lewis

5. May/Tony

6. Skye/Bucky sequel The B.E.R.S.E.R.K.E.R. Stratagem by AiyanaS

7. Skye/Peter Parker

8. Skye/Tony sequel So You're The One

9. Jemma/Bruce/Hulk

10. Skye/Deadpool fits into the Jemma/Gambit major sequel,The Gambler

11. Jemma/Bucky sequel currently being plotted by me

12. Jemma/Steve sequel A Very Eloquent Speech

13. Jemma/Johnny Storm

14. Skye/Steve sequel Trust Cap by jennaloohoo

15. May/Wolverine

16. Darcy/Trip

17. Skye/Darcy

18. Skye/Clint sequel I Can Jump...No! by AlekWalker

19. Jemma/Tony sequel Prior Consent COMPLETE

20. Steve/Bucky/Skye sequel I'm So Scared, Please Help Me by LadyWinterlight

21. Steve/Bucky/Jemma

22. Skye/Thor

23. Skye/Loki

24. Skye/Wolverine

25. Clint/Bucky/Skye sequel Are You Two…? (total porn without plot) by me COMPLETE

26. Jemma/Loki sequel What Right Have You?

27. Jemma/Wolverine

28. Jemma/Sam Wilson

29. Jemma/Gambit sequel The Gambler by me COMPLETE

30. Skye/Sam Wilson

31. Clint/Bucky/Jemma

32. Fitz/Tony (platonic) follows on from no. 28, Jemma/Sam

33. Skye/Peter Quill reserved for Lady Winterlight

34. Clint/Natasha/Jemma

35. Skye/Gambit

36. Jemma/Peter Quill

37. Skye/Quicksilver

38. May/Bruce

39. Jemma/Quicksilver

40. May/Natasha

41. Jemma/Brock Rumlow sequel You Need To Trust Me by me COMPLETE

42. Clint/Natasha/Skye

43. Jemma/Deadpool

44. Fitz/Darcy

45. Jemma/Peter Parker follows on from no. 44, Fitz/Darcy

46. Natasha/Skye sequel TBC reserved for catandmouse10

47. Clint/Natasha/May

48. Skye/Brock Rumlow

49. Skye/Fandral fits into the Jemma/Loki sequel What Right Have You?

50. Skye/Pyro

51. Skye/Rhodey

52. Steve/Bucky/Sif

53. Skye/Colossus follows on from no. 15, May/Wolverine

54. Skye/Angel sequel If I Had A Dollar... by me

55. Natasha/Jemma

56. Jemma/Colossus

57. Fitz/Natasha

58. Jemma/Fandral

59. Skye/Victor von Doom sequel Let Go Of Me by storieaddict

60. Skye/Iceman

61. Hunter/Bobbi

62. Skye/Wanda (Scarlet Witch) follows on from no. 39, Jemma/Quicksilver

63. Skye/Bruce Banner

64. Jemma/Iceman

65. Melinda May/Drax the Destroyer follows on from no. 36, Jemma/Peter Quill

66. Bucky Barnes/Sif

67. Jemma/Angel follows on from no. 15, May/Wolverine, and no. 53, Skye/Colossus

68. Bucky Barnes/Pepper Potts sequel In Extremis Veritas by zathara001

69. Skye/Hogun

70. Grant Ward/Natasha Romanoff

71. Steve/Sif

72. Jemma/Jane Foster Platonic fits into the Jemma/Loki sequel What Right Have You?

73. Jemma/Pyro follows on from no. 60, Skye/Iceman

74. Thor/Storm

75. Loki/Rogue follows on from no. 74, Thor/Storm

76. Phil Coulson/Pepper Potts

77. Fitz/Darcy/Jane Foster

78. Darcy/Deathlok

79. Clint/Bobbi/Natasha/Hunter

80. Fitz/Rogue part 1

81. Fitz/Rogue part 2

82. May/Rhodey

83. Phil Coulson/Wolverine

84. Bucky/Wanda sequel My Mission by me

85. Phil Coulson/Melinda May

86. Grant Ward/Rogue

87. Fitz/Sif

88. Mack/Darcy

89. Skye/Heimdall

90. May/Clint

91. Steve/Wanda

92. Darcy/Deadpool sequel One Too Many Shocks by pretzel-logic

93. Steve/Pepper

94. Bucky/Bobbi

95. Hunter/Bobbi/Clint

96. Phil/Gamora follows on from no. 36, Jemma/Peter Quill, and no 65, May/Drax

97. Jemma/Rhodey

98. Peggy Carter/Wolverine

99. May/Loki

100. Clint/Sif

101. May/Sam Wilson

102. Fitz/Wanda

103. Clint/Bobbi Morse reserved for AlekWalker

104. May/Heimdall fits into the Jemma/Loki sequel What Right Have You?

105. Clint/Wanda

106. Darcy/Angel sequel Broken Wings In The City That Never Sleeps by BirdofFire

107. Clint/Hunter

108. Clint/Brock Rumlow

109. Sif/Tony Stark

110. Fitz/Kitty Pryde

111. Clint/Jane

112. Clint/Pepper

113. Natasha/Sif

114. Brock Rumlow/Wanda Maximoff

115. Clint Barton/ Pietro Maximoff companion fic to 114, Brock Rumlow/Wanda

116. Jemma/Thor

117. Jemma/Pyro/Iceman reserved for Ellabee15

118. Skye/Jean Grey/Scott Summers companion fic to 117, Jemma/Pyro/Iceman, reserved for Ellabee15

119. Natasha/Heimdall

120. Brock Rumlow/Lance Hunter

121. Skye/Deadpool/Wolverine reserved for BirdofFire

122. Darcy/Gambit

123. Skye/Sam/Angel

124. Fitz/Bucky

125. Skye/Sunil Bakshi reserved for Dubstep Wombat

126. Jemma/Sunil Bakshi

127. Darcy/Colossus

128. Bruce Banner/Beth The Waitress

129. Brock Rumlow/Beth The Waitress

130. Bucky Barnes/Beth The Waitress

131. May/Deadpool

132. Quicksilver/Deadpool

133. Johnny Storm/Angel

134. Jemma/Lincoln

135. Fitz/Sam Wilson

136. Brock Rumlow/Bucky Barnes

137. Clint Barton/Beth the Waitress

138. Jemma/Matt Murdock

139. Pyro/Iceman/Skye

140. Jemma/Hogun

141. Darcy Lewis/Grant Ward

142. Pietro Maximoff/Bucky Barnes

143. Tony Stark/Wanda Maximoff

144. Skye/Jack Rollins

145. Skye/Scott Summers (Cyclops)

146. STRIKE Team Uncles (not a pairing)

147. Steve/Melinda May

148. Darcy Lewis/Lincoln Campbell

149. Phil Coulson/Helen Cho

150. Melinda May/Odin

. . .

Not sequels but also inspired by this fic…

Until The Last Falling Star

Fate's Arrow

Avengers Soulmates Snipets

Those Lovely Marks

What Pepper Said

Soulmarked

Fate Has A Twisted Sense Of Humour

I Wasn't Expecting This Today

If YOU are inspired by one of these and want to write a sequel – first of all, please check the Index to see if someone already did. One sequel per Short, please. Second, please get in touch and ASK me, because a few I want to keep for myself – I'd like to see a plot and beta-read at least the first chapter of your continuance. I also politely request that you credit me and then I'll link to your story from both this Index and the appropriate chapter in the story.


	2. Happy, Happy Day (Clint & Jemma)

**Happy, Happy Day**

Clint Barton/Jemma Simmons

Another day, another HYDRA facility to blow up. Clint sighed as he fitted another arrow to his bowstring and shot the guard at the gate who was currently trying to shoot Captain America in the back.

"We're done here," he called it in on the com about twenty minutes later, watching Steve, Sam and Natasha coming out of the building. "Resistance eliminated."

"All right," Coulson responded in his ear. "Stand by, Hawkeye. I have May escorting in my biosciences expert to take a look around before we blow the place sky-high. And if she gets taken out by any stray resistance I'm gonna be very pissed with you."

"Ugh," Clint muttered, dropping down out of the tree he'd selected for his sniper perch. "Isn't Bruce coming in? I would have thought this would be his bag. And then we wouldn't have to worry about your civilian expert getting shot."

"Doctor Simmons is not a civilian, Clint, she's an agent, and a very competent one," Phil responded dryly. "Just keep an eye on her. Like a lot of the science geeks she can get a bit lost in the tech."

"Happy, happy day," he said sarcastically, watching the black SUV approach. It drew to a stop just outside the shattered gate and two women got out. "May," he nodded to the senior agent cordially, and she nodded back.

"Barton. This is Doctor Jemma Simmons."

"This way, please," he gestured politely towards the gate as he met the eyes of the younger woman. She was quite pretty, he noted distantly, shoulder length brown hair and soft brown eyes.

"Happy, happy day," she said back to him, and he winced, realising that she'd heard his sarcastic remark on the coms. He said that a lot. It was the words that had been printed neatly on his right pectoral muscle since he was eleven years old. _Wait_. His eyes widened.

"I don't suppose you were born with the words _this way, please_, scribbled somewhere on your body in very scruffy handwriting?"

The brown eyes went very wide. "How do you know that?"

Clint pulled off his tactical vest and T-shirt. Doctor Simmons took a step back, but didn't seem to be able to stop staring at his chest. He tapped his fingers on the three tiny, neatly printed words.

"Hello, soulmate."

She stepped closer, peering at his chest. And then her eyes tilted up to his and she gave him a shy little smile. "Hello."


	3. Don't Call Me Girlie (Skye&Johnny Storm)

Skye/Johnny Storm

"It's very disappointing," Skye sat down on Coulson's desk, swinging her legs and crunching potato chips. He gave her his exasperated face and she rolled her eyes and slumped into a chair instead.

"Thank you," Coulson muttered, looking back at his computer screen. She crunched again loudly, and he sighed, giving up. "So what exactly do you find disappointing?"

"Superheroes." Skye smirked when he looked surprised. "Seriously? Captain America is an uptight prick. Barton is standoffish to the point of rudeness. Banner is so silent he might as well be not present, except for when he unexpectedly loses his temper and turns into a giant rage monster."

Coulson actually cracked a smile, leaned back in his chair and opened his hand, inviting her to continue. Skye started ticking them off on her fingers.

"Thor is an ass who thinks humanity is still on an evolutionary level with chimpanzees. Romanoff can't have a conversation with anybody without threatening them with grievous bodily harm."

"Stark?" Coulson asked when she paused to crunch again.

"Oh puh-leeze. Stark's the biggest asshole of the lot. Although Wolverine comes a close second." Skye viciously crunched another chip, thinking about that. "They_ both_ patted my ass and called me _girlie_!"

"Only once," Coulson pointed out.

"Only because Romanoff was in the room!"

"That is possibly true," he acknowledged. "Well – yes, I agree they do have their foibles."

"_Foibles_. Huh," Skye snorted. "And that's just the ones who have _control_ over their powers! Don't get me started on that weirdo Cyclops."

"It's hardly his fault you tripped and knocked his sunglasses off," Phil objected.

"He could have closed his eyes! He blew up my laptop!"

Phil winced. Skye had not made a good impression during that incident. While the X-Men weren't actively working against what remained of S.H.I.E.L.D., they had declined to commit to co-operate either. He couldn't blame that on Skye – but he didn't think she'd helped. "Well, there's one more group we're meeting this afternoon. Please try to refrain from being…" he almost said '_from being Skye'_ but stopped himself. "Antagonistic."

"So who're this crew?" Skye asked, rooting around the bottom of her chip bag and scowling when she came up empty-handed.

"The Fantastic Four."

"Oh, the bendy dude and his invisible wife?"

Phil closed his eyes and counted to ten. "That's Mr Fantastic and The Invisible Woman, Reed Richards and Susan Storm-Richards, Skye. Plus their cohorts, Ben Grimm – the Thing – and Susan's brother John Storm, the Human Torch."

"Has anyone pointed out that he looks a lot like Steve Rogers?"

"_Yes_, Skye, and _no_, they're not related."

"Huh." Skye grinned. "Well, if he's less uptight than Captain Tightpants, that's gotta be a good thing, right?" She bounced to her feet and trotted out, waving the empty packet at Coulson. "Later, AC!"

Phil put his head down on the desk and groaned.

_The Baxter Building, later that day_

"Fancy elevator," Skye commented, "kinda slow?"

"Shh," came back at her from all corners. Since Reed and his wife were scientists, Coulson had brought Fitz and Jemma along too.

"Why, no one's here but us," she grumped, rolling her eyes when Jemma glared at her.

The elevator doors slid open – _finally_, the building wasn't that tall! – and they stepped out into a weird-ass lab full of machines Skye didn't even recognise. An obnoxiously beautiful woman came up, smiling.

"Director Coulson, thank you for coming. I'm Sue."

Coulson and Fitz were both reduced to stuttering wrecks in Susan Storm-Richards' presence, and Jemma was struck to wide-eyed silence due to the woman's brilliant reputation as a bio-scientist. Skye stepped in and completed the introductions, liking Sue at once as she saw the twinkle in the other woman's eye. _Okay. So maybe not _all_ superheroes are assholes_.

Reed Richards _was_ an asshole, though, Skye decided a few minutes later. Typical brilliant-scientist asshole. No respect for anyone he considered his intellectual lesser.

Ben Grimm was quite nice, though. Pleasant and polite, and Skye found herself feeling rather sorry for him. Had to be tough if you were stuck looking like that all the time.

"Where's John?" Phil asked then.

"Late as usual," Reed muttered, glancing at Sue, who sighed.

"I'm sure he'll be here any minute, Director."

"Please call me Phil." They were smiling and being nice at each other when Skye noticed the rapidly approaching fireball through the window.

"ARGH!" she screamed, pointing.

"What?" Sue turned invisible – which looked deeply weird, since she was wearing regular clothes, and they didn't disappear – and everyone whipped around to face the window.

"Oh," Ben chuckled, like an earthquake. "No need to worry, girlie. That's just Johnny."

_Well, at least he didn't pat my ass_. Skye downrated Ben for the _girlie_, though.

"The star is here, you can start the show!" Johnny Storm came striding in through the open balcony doors. That skintight blue suit did quite a job for him, emphasising every delicious, leanly muscled inch. Skye couldn't help but stare. Spotting her, Johnny stopped mid-stride and let out a low wolf-whistle.

"Wow. If I'd known about _you_, I'd've been on time," he said to her directly.

Skye blinked. Twice. She heard Jemma suck in a breath beside her. Jemma had seen the words scrawled in a loopy spiral around Skye's belly button. She _knew_.

"Let me know when you're ready to start making little fireworks, huh?" Skye said finally.

Johnny's eyes went a good deal wider. "Wanna blow this popsicle stand, girlie?"

"As long as you promise never to call me _girlie_ again."

"I reckon I can do that." He folded her hand in his, grinning, and they headed for the balcony together.

"What just happened?" Skye grinned as she heard Coulson's plaintive voice behind her.

"Promise I'll make him bring me home by midnight!" she yelled over her shoulder.

Johnny laughed in her ear. "You'll be lucky."

Skye grinned up at him. _Oh well, so this superhero was an asshole too_.

At least this one was _her_ asshole.

**999 words. Phew.**

**This one was the early leader in the vote tally. You want to see another pairing written, click on my name just below the title to go to my profile: the poll can be found right at the top of the page. If you don't see the pairing you want to vote for, PM me BEFORE you vote so I can add it!**


	4. Get Down! (Darcy Lewis & Lance Hunter)

**Get Down!**

_Darcy Lewis/Lance Hunter_

Growing up with _Get down!_ printed on her ankle, Darcy had expected to meet her soulmate probably playing some childish game. It wasn't until she was older and less likely to get hit in the head with a flying softball that she realised exactly why her mother was so bothered by the words.

Hanging around with Asgardian Gods and physicists without the sense to screw in a light bulb – or ability to warm a PopTart without blowing up the kitchen – she started getting the feeling that her soulmate was just around the corner again. But Mr. (or Ms.) _Get down!_ didn't show up in Puente Antiguo to defend her from the huge mechanical monster. Or in London when there were freaky dark elves trying to break the space-time continuum.

So Darcy shrugged, shagged Ian, farewelled him cheerfully enough when he headed back to Cambridge to finish his thesis and carried on trying to coax Jane into eating regular meals. It was actually much easier with Thor around, since the big guy didn't like missing meals at all, and wasn't keen on spending time without Jane either. Darcy would just send him into the lab and he would come out with a (briefly) annoyed Jane over his shoulder, and they'd go get lunch.

They were eating lunch one day at an all-you-can-eat Chinese place not far from the lab (they'd nearly been banned when the manager realised how much Thor could eat, but then he saw how little Jane ate and decided to call it a wash) when gunfire sounded outside.

Thor shoved Jane under the table and was out the door in a second. Darcy, unfortunately, had developed an instinct for running towards the bad things instead of away, and went belting after him. What she thought she could do other than get in the way she had no idea, but she never got a chance, because one step outside and she felt a bullet whiz past her ear. Actually _felt_ the heat of it pass, probably singing her hair as it went. She froze.

"Get down!" a voice bellowed, and someone crashed into her, knocking her into the pavement, sending her glasses flying, and then a gun was going off right over her head as her attacker (saviour?) lay on her back.

Darcy screamed and covered her ears. The shooting seemed to go on forever, and then the heavy bastard on her back finally climbed off. "Are you all right?" he asked, in an English accent.

"No, I think you broke my boobs!" Darcy groaned, climbing to her feet, pressing her hand to the crushed girls – _ow _that was gonna bruise – and squinting around for her glasses. "And I can't see."

The tall-ish – tall but not Thor-sized – blurry figure in front of her paused. "I always wondered what would happen to make a girl say those words to me," he said conversationally.

"What?" Darcy blinked owlishly. A moment later her glasses were pressed back into her hand. Thank goodness for shatterproof lenses. She pushed them up her nose and took a good look at the guy.

_Oooh. Well_. Maybe she didn't mind being crushed all _that_ much. He had kind of, probably, saved her life, too, when he shoved her and shouted…

He shouted _get down!_

"Oh," Darcy said in astonishment, "are _you_ my soulmate?"

"Seems that way," he was looking her over comprehensively, so she returned the favour. About five foot ten, dark hair cut military short, a rather sexy goatee beard and moustache. He was very attractive, all cheekbones and intense dark eyes, wearing a leather jacket and jeans which in no way hid that he was extremely buff. "What's your name, gorgeous?"

"Darcy," she said, still a bit stunned. "Darcy Lewis. You?"

"Hunter, Lance Hunter. A genuine pleasure." He picked up her hand and kissed it with a gallant flourish. "Unfortunately, duty calls." He raised a hand to the earpiece she'd only just spotted he was wearing. "I'll find you later, Darcy." He grinned, and then ran off down the street in an easy lope, towards where Darcy could still see lightning flashing in the distance.

Jane dragged Darcy back into the restaurant as soon as he was gone, demanding to know what the _hell_ she was playing at and who was _that_? It took half a bottle of wine before Darcy could think clearly enough to explain.

Darcy had no idea how Hunter was going to find her again. She really hadn't expected to come back from a grocery run that evening to find him sitting at the table in the flat with Jane, Thor and the formerly-dead Agent-iPod-Thief Coulson.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Darcy and Hunter both said at the same moment, she dropping her shopping bags on her toes, he leaping to his feet.

"This is Darcy, my lab assistant," Jane introduced with a grin, having recognised Hunter from the incident earlier. "And the reason why Thor and I accepted your offer of an alliance with your team so readily, Director Coulson. I really couldn't do without Darcy. And I can't ask her to be on opposing sides to her soulmate."

They all had the privilege then of seeing Coulson look surprised, ("A very rare treat," Hunter commented to Darcy later) before he rather kindly told them to get out.

Darcy took Hunter out to the little rooftop terrace. "So you're one of the jackbooted thugs?" she asked.

"Eh," he shrugged. "I'm not career S.H.I.E.L.D. if that's what you mean." He stepped closer, traced a roughened fingertip gently down her cheek. He smelt of gun oil and leather; it made Darcy's head spin.

"Can we worry about our respective ideologies and career tracks later?" she asked hopefully, moving in closer and lifting her hand to place it lightly on his chest. _Mmm, muscles_. "Because I'd really much rather you kissed me right now instead."

"Sweetheart," he grinned, "I thought you'd never ask."

**995 words. Sorry, no space to write in the kiss!**

**This pairing was the runaway leader in early voting. Hope it hits the spot for those of you who wanted to see these two together!**

**Don't forget to vote if you didn't already - click on my profile to find the poll. If you were an early voter, you may be able to get 2 more choices as I upped the number from 2 to 4.**


	5. Bendy Lady (Melinda May & Tony Stark)

**Bendy Lady**

_Melinda May/Tony Stark_

_Especially for JJS4, who inspired this pairing_

"I still don't get how you expected to keep us in the dark forever," Tony followed Coulson up the stairs at the rear of the plane. "I don't even get why you _wanted_ to. Sure, Fury perpetrated the ruse to tie the team together, I get that…"

"It wasn't a ruse, I was _dead_," Coulson cut him off. "I was brought back by a dangerous experimental drug and I really don't recommend the experience."

"Yes, well, you're not the only one saved by dangerous experimental procedures," Tony tapped his chest, the former arc reactor site, with his eyebrows arched. They were walking through the lounge now, heading for the spiral stairs to Coulson's office. There was a woman there, her back to them, black hair flowing as she moved smoothly through _tai chi_ poses. She was wearing tight black pants and a strappy bra top, and she moved like water flowing.

Tony couldn't help but stop to appreciate the sight. He'd been basically celibate for a while now – ever since he finally figured out why Bruce had been avoiding meeting Pepper. The sharp-eyed Barton spotted the words on Bruce's thigh after a Hulk transformation. _Hi, I'm Pepper_ wasn't exactly likely to be anyone else, after all. Tony had briefly considered being selfish, and then gave up and arranged an introduction. He was happy for them both, _really_. Just – kind of lonely now.

Sure, the groupies were still around. But after the first one he took to bed post-Pepper turned out to be HYDRA and tried to stab him in his sleep, it kind of ruined the mood when he had to have them thoroughly vetted before sleeping with them.

So this slender, flexible woman was a sight for sore eyes. Tony stood and stared, not even noticing how far Coulson was ahead until Agent called to him.

"Come on, Stark, my office is this way!"

The black-haired woman didn't miss a beat, flowing into the next pose, not even glancing back though she had to know he was behind her. Piqued at being ignored, Tony decided to see if he could prod a reaction out of her.

"Wow, she's flexible, Coulson. Very bendy," he called to the Director, before addressing the woman. "Hello, bendy lady. Can you put your ankles behind your neck? Better yet, behind _my_ neck?" He walked around her as he was speaking, wanting to see her face. _Hoo boy_, the view was even better from the front. She had one of those beautiful, inscrutable, Asian faces, delicately boned, with magnificent dark eyes. _Hot hot hot_. And she hadn't so much as twitched at his offensive remark. Tony sighed and headed for Coulson's office.

Melinda May waited until the office door clicked shut before dropping out of her pose, sitting down and putting her head in her hands. She'd always known her soulmate had the potential to be an ass. When your words started with _Hello, bendy lady_, and ended with a sexual request, it was a pretty high probability. But _Tony Stark? _

May sighed. Well, she'd been considering possible responses to those obnoxious words her whole life. She'd actually thought she might have spoken first – _Hello_ was a possibility. But considering the circumstances – and the man – she made her decision quickly. She went to fetch her favourite kickass leather jacket and boots.

Coulson invited Tony to come and meet the rest of the team once their meeting had finished. "And please don't be offensive to Agent May again, Stark. She's my second-in-command and a very capable agent who could kick your ass seven ways to Sunday."

"I'd probably like that if she did it," Tony leered shamelessly as he sat down on the couch Coulson directed him to in the lounge. The beautiful flexible woman – Agent May, he presumed – was gone, sadly. And then he was somehow flat on his back on the floor with her booted foot on his throat. Coulson discreetly fled the scene.

"You ever speak to me with such disrespect again," May told him icily, "I'll cut off your dick and feed it to you."

Tony's eyes shot wider as he choked under the pressure of her boot. Satisfied that he'd recognised both the words and the legitimacy of her threat, May lifted her foot. Although she was tempted to put it back down again when she noticed how tight his jeans had gotten as she spoke. His next words would determine everything.

"I am a very lucky man," Tony said, once he could breathe again. He grinned at her surprised look. "Oh come on, I always knew that I was going to be an obnoxious bastard to my soulmate. Consider the words. I'm just lucky that I was complimenting instead of insulting you."

That – was true. May cocked her head at him as he scrambled to his feet.

"I'll give you one chance to convince me that I should waste any of my time with you," she said, catching his wrist and pulling on it.

"No problem. Let's get my jet and fly to my place in Bermuda…" Tony trailed off as she led him to her sleeping cubicle. "Here?" he looked around with vague distaste.

"What, can't perform without your five-thousand-thread-count sheets, Stark?" she taunted.

He never could resist a challenge. "You want a performance, I'll give you the performance of your life," he promised.

Afterwards, when they both lay sweating and sated, Tony let out a laugh. "I don't even know your first name! Or is your first name May?"

"No," she rolled over and grinned at him. "It's Melinda. Abbreviate it in any way and I'll kill you."

"I totally believe you." He leaned in to kiss her again. "Melinda."

"And don't you forget it." She smiled, lying back and closing her eyes as he set to work again with that talented mouth. So Stark _was_ trainable after all. He just needed a firm hand. Hers.

**993 words. **

**I reckon May would need to establish right at the beginning that he couldn't walk all over her, don't you? And Tony would absolutely adore and be turned on by that.**


	6. My Name Is Skye (Skye & Bucky Barnes)

**My Name Is Skye**

_Skye/Bucky Barnes_

"There's someone here," Skye hissed, peering down the sight of her rifle. "Repeat, there's someone already here, I see movement inside!"

"This place is supposed to be abandoned," May's voice crackled in her ear. "Trip, do you have visual?"

"Negative. Location, Skye?"

"Upper level," Skye peered through the scope, scanning carefully. It was a recently abandoned HYDRA safe house: Coulson had received an email from Tony Stark telling them that the Black Widow had found the place and the Avengers had trashed it, but there might be some information or artefacts of interest remaining. Coulson sent May, Trip and Skye to investigate. "I don't see them now. But it was definitely a person."

"Proceed with caution," May decided eventually. "ICERs ready."

"Affirmative."

Skye knelt on the back seat of the SUV, her rifle braced on the open window-frame, watching, waiting.

A thud on the roof made Skye jump, and suddenly a metal hand came in through the window and grabbed her, dragging her out of the car with preternatural speed. And then she was lying on the roof, gagging and clawing at the fingers clenched around her throat, staring up into icy blue eyes. Black hair hung jaggedly around a stubbled jawline, but all she could really focus on was those eyes.

"A dangerous pastime for little girls," a harsh voice rumbled, and Skye's eyes flew wide. She tried to speak, but couldn't. "Stay away from HYDRA business, little girl." He let go, leaped down and yanked the rifle out the window. As he strode away, Skye managed to get a gulp of air back into her lungs and called hoarsely;

"My name is Skye!"

He froze mid-stride. And then he whirled and came back towards her swiftly. Skye had a couple of seconds to think that she might just have made the biggest – and last – mistake of her life, and then he was in front of her. He made no attempt to grab her, just stared into her eyes.

"Do you spell that with an E at the end?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He kept staring at her, troubled. And finally he held out his metal hand in a clear signal that he intended to help her down. Skye hesitated; but her earpiece had come out when he yanked her out of the car and by now May and Trip would be trying to check in. She needed to speak with them, tell them not to come in guns blazing and shoot her soulmate. Even if he _was_ the assassin who tried to kill Fury and nearly took out Captain America. She wasn't stupid. She knew what that metal hand meant, even though the rest of the arm was concealed under his jacket sleeve.

Slowly, she put her hand into that cool metal one, and he helped her down.

"I need to speak to my team," she gestured at the earpiece, fallen on the ground beside the SUV. "Or they'll be coming looking for me."

The Winter Soldier nodded, watching as she picked the com up.

"Skye here. May, stand down. Trip, everything's fine." She obviously listened for a moment. "Yes, I know who was in there." She looked up at the Soldier. Steve Rogers had told Coulson that the assassin was actually a brainwashed Bucky Barnes, and that his conditioning might be breaking down. Indeed, there had been a recent spate of anti-HYDRA attacks that could be attributed to this man. "Please give me five minutes before coming in." She took the com out again once May and Trip acknowledged.

"You work for S.H.I.E.L.D?" he asked.

"Yes. And you? Who do you work for?"

He shrugged. "Myself."

"Are you really Bucky Barnes?" Skye couldn't help but ask in a kind of awe. If Captain America was the First Avenger, Bucky Barnes was the second.

"I was, I think. Maybe one day again." He shrugged, and then abruptly held the rifle out, butt first. "This is yours."

"Thanks," she accepted it, turning to put it back inside the vehicle. "You were in there?" she gestured at the house.

"Yes. There is nothing here of interest."

"My team leader will have to be the judge of that."

He nodded. Stood silently watching her.

"What should I call you?" Skye asked shyly.

"James," he said finally. "It is my name, too, I believe."

"Yes," Skye agreed. She tentatively held out her hand to him. "Will you come with us? There's a place for you. Your old friend Steve will want to see you, and we can put you in contact with him. And if you want to fight against HYDRA, well," she smiled as he took her hand, holding it gently, as though afraid of crushing it, "you'll be with the right people."

"Good." James stared at her for a moment. "May I see my words?"

Skye didn't hesitate. She turned around, pulling her shirt up to reveal the old-fashioned cursive across the small of her back. He traced them with a cool metal finger, making her shiver. "Where are mine on you?" she asked, turning back around.

He pulled up one leg of his jeans to reveal her loopy script around his ankle. It was surrounded by shiny white burn tissue. "They kept trying to burn you away," he said softly, "but you always came back. No matter what, you were always with me. Twenty-six years ago, the words appeared, and since then – I've slowly been regaining who I am. You gave me the strength to want to be _me_ again."

"I'll always come back," Skye promised, knowing this was one promise she'd have no trouble keeping. "I'll always be with you, James. You don't ever have to be alone again."

He smiled, the ice in those wintry eyes thawing just a little. Well, she'd make it her personal mission to warm him through. No more winter for _her_ soldier. Skye held on to his hands. She didn't intend to ever let him go.

**Phew, 999 words, and I had to cut a fair few to get it down to that! I like it, though. Hope you do too: this was the runaway leader on the poll in the last couple of days!**

**You can still vote in the poll for the pairing you want to see next!**


	7. Did Someone Break Gravity? (Skye&Spidey)

**Did Someone Break Gravity?**

Skye/Peter Parker

_She was going to die_. She was going to die, right here, today, falling to her death because she was too damn _stupid_ to remember that when you were shot in a bulletproof vest, the bullet's momentum transferred into your body moving backwards, and she'd been standing way too close to the edge of the roof.

Well, at least she had the satisfaction of knowing she'd killed the HYDRA sniper she'd been sent to take down. Unfortunately, the bastard had been quick enough to whip out his sidearm and get a round off when he saw her. Skye had seen his head explode in a puff of red a fraction of a second before the impact to her ribs had overbalanced her, back off the edge of the roof she'd just climbed over. She'd grabbed frantically for the fire escape, but missed.

Everything seemed to have slowed down. Shouldn't her life be flashing before her eyes? It wasn't that tall a building, only eight stories – shouldn't she have hit the ground by now?

Skye suddenly registered that the wind which had been whistling past her face, was travelling in a different direction. Which seemed very wrong, so she chanced opening her eyes, and discovered that she was now travelling sideways to the building in front of her eyes.

"Did someone break gravity?" she muttered, light-headed from the relief of not actually being dead.

"I'm not _that_ good at physics," a low, warm voice said behind her ear. And now Skye registered that the pain in her ribs was not merely from the bullet that had plowed into her vest, but also from the tight grip of a strong arm around her middle.

"Oh," she said, still a bit stunned, but now for a different reason. "Apparently you're my soulmate, though."

"Apparently," the voice replied. "What's a nice girl like you doing getting shot and falling off a roof anyway?"

They were proceeding in a weird, lurching motion, sort of swinging through arcs. And then she saw another roof coming closer and closer.

"I'm not really a nice girl," Skye said.

"Figures." They landed, and Skye was surprised when he didn't actually let her feet touch the ground, just ran lightly across the roof and dropped them down through an open trapdoor. Finally they stopped moving and she was set on her feet gently, the powerful grip around her middle relaxing.

Skye whirled, grabbing for the gun that should be holstered on her thigh – she'd dropped the other one when she fell off the roof – only to find it missing. And then she spotted it, dangling by the trigger guard from the forefinger of…

"_Spider-Man_?" she said incredulously. "Spider-Man is my _soulmate_?"

"Who did you think I was, sweetheart?" he lounged comfortably back against the wall, slapping the gun against the wall and covering it with white webbing. "Considering the method of _saving your life_, which, by the way, you can express your maidenly gratitude for at any moment of your choosing…"

"_Maidenly gratitude_?" Skye said incredulously. "To what, exactly, that weird-ass mask?"

"Oh," he hesitated, and then, slowly, yanked the mask off, revealing a shock of reddish hair, blue eyes and a face that was painfully young. Skye knew he'd be younger than her. Her words hadn't appeared until she was four, which meant her soulmate was only twenty-one now. But he looked younger than that. Hot, though. Really hot.

"Oh, God, I'm snatching the cradle," she groaned.

"Hey, I'm not complaining, snatch away, I'm so glad you're not a cougar."

"A _cougar_? Seriously?" Skye was diverted.

"I was born with your words on my ass, how was I supposed to know you'd be only a little bit older than me and seriously beautiful?"

Skye couldn't help but grin. He apparently suffered from runaway mouth disease, just like her. Maybe they really were a match made in heaven. And he seemed shy; he'd stayed where he was, propping up that wall. She moved towards him slowly.

"I'm Skye," she said, "no last name. And you?"

"Spider-Man," he grinned, but he was looking suddenly nervous as she got close enough to touch. She had to tip her head back to look him in the eyes, he must be close to six foot.

"That's a shame," Skye purred, reaching up to touch his chest. He was very firm, well-muscled under that skin-tight red and black suit. "Because I have an absolute rule that I _never_ kiss a guy unless I know at least his first name."

He swallowed a little nervously, Adam's apple bobbing. "Peter. My name's Peter."

Skye slid her hand up and around to the back of his neck, pulling his head down towards hers. Telling herself all the while that she really shouldn't be doing this. But the adrenaline was still flowing through her veins, and the devil on her shoulder was egging her on.

"Well, Peter," she murmured, "I really am very glad you saved my life."

"So am I," he said thickly, just before their lips met.

**846 words. **

**I quite like this pairing. Snarky smartasses with hearts of gold.**

**Please let me know what you think – and vote in the poll for pairings you'd like to see, if you haven't already!**


	8. So You're The One (Skye & Tony Stark)

**So You're The One**

_Skye/Tony Stark_

"Third office on the right down the hall, Stark, and stop _bothering_ me! Yes, you can go find my hacker and quiz her about that worm she dumped on HYDRA. She'll rip you a new one herself if you give her any grief, so just get out of my office!"

"Cheers, Agent," Tony gave a little wave of his fingers and departed, laughing inwardly at Coulson's glare. He headed down the hall, taking the opportunity to peek through every door. Interesting little secret base Fury had set up here. Third door – must be this one. He looked through the open door and blinked. _Couldn't be_. The room's only occupant was a pretty young thing with a laptop. She looked about eighteen, nibbling on a strand of long dark hair as she typed rapidly, humming to herself. But then Coulson _had_ said his hacker was a _she_.

"So you're the one."

Skye spun around, her eyes huge. She said nothing, though, just stared at the man in the doorway.

"You're younger than I expected," Tony Stark commented, moving forward and edging her out of the way with his hip to look at her computer screen. "Who trained you, the Russians? The Chinese? Or are you Israeli?"

Skye shook her head in response to each rapid-fire question. Stark eyed her thoughtfully.

"Coulson didn't say you were the quiet type, he told me you could hold your own, wouldn't have let me in here if you couldn't. Cat got your tongue?"

She took a deep breath. "No, but I do have your words."

He froze, fingers suspended over the keyboard. Slowly turned his head to look at her. She found herself staring into dark, dark eyes from very close range.

"Show me."

Skye blushed, but this was _Tony Stark_. She reached up to the neck of her T-shirt and pulled it down, glad it was stretchy and she wouldn't have to remove it. There, on the upper curve of her left breast, a barely legible scribble said _So you're the one_.

"Please tell me it is your writing and I didn't just flash a billionaire for no purpose?" she begged.

"Oh, there's always a purpose for pretty girls showing me their breasts," Tony murmured, his eyes coming back up to hers. "But yes. That's my writing. Not that I ever actually _write_ anything, these days."

"Me either," Skye smiled a bit sheepishly. He was awfully attractive, even though he was only a few inches taller than her. She could quite see why he'd won Bachelor of the Year so many times. Those dark eyes were magnetic, drawing her in closer. Even if the facial hair was a bit iffy.

Tony sighed, leaning back against her desk. "So what's your name, jailbait?"

"Skye, and I'm not _that_ young, I'm twenty-six!"

"Really?" Tony blinked again. "Wow, that's a relief, because you look about seventeen and I had the feeling it was gonna be a _very_ long few years. I was drunk through pretty much my whole teens and twenties and couldn't remember when the words appeared."

She couldn't help but giggle, though she felt a little regret. If he'd known when her words appeared, she could at least find out her true birthdate. "Where are my words on you?"

He grinned wickedly. "Well, since you _are_ legal after all, I could show you." His hands went to his belt and he slipped the buckle free.

"Whoa, no, it can wait!" Skye freaked out. "Not here!"

He laughed. "It's all right. You could possibly see them even with the belt fastened." He pulled up the edge of his Black Sabbath T-shirt and edged his jeans down slightly over his left hip. And there indeed was her writing. _No, but I do have your words._

Skye reached out to touch, but realised what she was doing and snatched her hand away before making contact with his skin, her face flaming. "I'm sorry!"

"Don't be," he smiled at her again, warmly. "You're my soulmate. I've been looking for you for a _very_ long time."

"I thought Miss Potts…"

"Not my soulmate," his smile twisted wryly. "Obviously. A good friend, my _best_ friend, but she found her soulmate recently. Captain America's buddy, the Falcon. I couldn't stand in the way of that. Hadn't honestly thought I'd find anyone else who would put up with my shit."

"I won't," Skye told him flatly. "I've been lied to, led on and hurt too many times. I won't put up with that shit any more."

Tony looked deep into her eyes for a moment, seeing a girl who'd seen too much, suffered too much in her short life. Gently he lifted a hand to her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin, letting his fingers brush against her silky dark hair.

"I can't promise I won't be an asshole and you won't want to kill me sometimes," he said honestly, "but I promise you this. I'll never cheat on you. I'll never lie to you. And if anyone ever even _thinks_ about hurting you, I will _destroy_ them."

A small smile curled Skye's lips, and she lifted her own hand, placing it over his where it rested on her cheek. "I couldn't ask for more than that."

"Well you should," in the face of such deep emotion, Tony reverted to snark. "I _am_ a billionaire, after all. Anything you want, it's yours."

Skye couldn't help but laugh. "I'll email you a shopping list."

"You do that." He let go reluctantly, stepping back, but she was very young and there was a great deal he needed to tell her before she made any deep commitment to him. "And put a date in your calendar."

"Oh?" she arched an eyebrow.

"Yeah, tonight. I'm taking you out to dinner. Be ready at eight." He scooped her hand in his, kissed it flamboyantly, and departed. "I'll just let Coulson know I'm stealing you!" his voice floated back.

**998 words.**

**This wasn't easy for me to write; for me Skye is more likely to be Tony's daughter than his lover due to the age gap! The whole point of this is to challenge myself to write out of my comfort zone, though, so I hope all of you who wanted to see Skye and Tony together enjoyed it!**

**THIS ONE NOW HAS A SEQUEL. The lovely Misha asked if she could continue it and I was happy to let her do so. Here's the link:**

** s/10935908/1/So-You-re-the-One**

**Please leave her a comment, and enjoy!**


	9. NOT HURT MY CLEVER LADY (Jemma & Bruce)

NOT HURT MY CLEVER LADY

_Jemma/Bruce, Jemma/Hulk_

She'd been born with one soulmark. Obviously she spoke first, and said something nice, because the words, in precise script her orderly mind appreciated said _Thank you, you're very kind_. It was an adult thing to say, and Jemma developed a reputation for babbling nervous compliments on meeting new people. But no one responded with those exact words, and eventually she stopped worrying about it. Her soulmate would turn up eventually.

She was in the Academy when the second words appeared, a burning sensation on her collarbones sending her running to the bathroom to look in the mirror. _NOT HURT MY CLEVER LADY_ was etched there in crude, rough capitals, in – was that _dark green_? Jemma stared incredulously into the mirror, and finally ran to get a camera, taking close ups so she could see better. Afterwards, she researched soulmarks, but never found so much as a single scrap of anecdotal evidence that the marks were ever in any colour other than black, fading to grey if one soulmate died.

Jemma covered the mark up. Wore high collars and conservative clothes. The last thing she needed was anyone asking questions about the strange words in that weird colour. She avoided sexual contact, not that she'd ever had much anyway. And figured she'd deal with her first soulmate seeing the words when she found them. Her second soulmate (and _that_ was pretty rare too) was just a child anyway.

When Coulson told her he was bringing the near-legendary Dr Bruce Banner in to consult on a gamma radiation question with the Peruvian 0-8-4, she almost fainted in a paroxysm of fangirling, snapping herself out of it eventually at Fitz's scornful remarks. She'd pulled herself together just in time to fall apart again when Coulson entered the lab and Dr Banner turned out to be distinguishedly handsome, a few threads of grey just starting to speckle his fluffy black hair.

"Doctor Banner, Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons," Coulson introduced.

"Sir," Fitz muttered, shaking hands and then backing off, looking a little bit fanboy-ish himself.

"It's such an honour to meet you, I've read all your papers," Jemma babbled, grabbing his hand a bit too firmly. He held on when she tried to let go, though, staring at her intently from weary, chocolate-brown eyes.

"Thank you. You're very kind."

Jemma's mouth fell open, and Dr Banner smiled at her. It was a surprised smile, but not unwelcoming. "Hello. I'd just about given up on finding you."

"I – I've been waiting for you," she stuttered back.

"Huh?" Fitz said densely, looking from one to the other of them in bemusement.

"I think we might just witnessed a meeting of soulmates," Coulson murmured, grabbing Fitz's arm and ushering him out. "Come on, Fitz. I think we're surplus to requirements here right now."

"Doctor Banner is my soulmate," Jemma said wonderingly, staring up into those lovely chocolate eyes. "Wow."

"Don't you think you could call me Bruce?" he lifted the hand he was still holding and pressed a gentle kiss against her knuckles. "I hope we'll be seeing a lot of each other, after all."

Jemma blushed, even though she could tell he hadn't meant it in a sexual way. But the thought of his _seeing_ her, made her realise there was something she should tell him. "I have a second soulmark. Do you?" Nine times out of ten, those with two soulmarks were part of a soulmate 'triad' where _all_ parties were doubly marked. The one in ten – well, that was a frequent plot device in horror movies.

"No," Bruce's eyebrows shot up, and then something seemed to occur to him. He frowned deeply. "May I see the second mark? And – mine, if you wouldn't mind showing me?"

"Yours is here," she took off her watch and showed him the small lettering on the inside of her left wrist. It had always been easy to conceal. He smiled and rolled up his sleeve to reveal her handwriting circling a nicely muscled bicep.

"The other?" he asked gently when she hesitated. "You don't have to show me if it's somewhere intimate."

"It's not." Coming to a decision – maybe _he'd_ have heard something about coloured soulmarks – she unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on her blouse. It was quite gratifying to see his eyes widen and his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, but she wasn't going to flash him her cleavage. _Not yet, anyway_, whispered that part of her she'd been repressing ever since the green words appeared. She opened her collar and revealed the blocky capitals across her collarbones.

"Oh," Bruce said softly. "I – think I might know who that is. You'd better sit down."

It was a good thing he made her sit down before he told her, because Jemma fainted for the first time in her life. She came to in Bruce's arms, his fingers threading gently through her hair. "I'm sorry," he was murmuring. "I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault," she mumbled dazedly, still trying to come to terms with the fact that the Hulk was her second soulmate. _The. HULK_.

"I'll leave you alone. Not see you. I don't want to put you at risk."

"You know that's not how it works." She sat up, realised he'd gathered her into his lap, blushed and then bit her lip determinedly. She put a hand on his cheek, making him meet her eyes. "The words are a _guarantee_. Hulk and I are going to meet sooner or later, and you can't prevent that. I'm not going to live my life without you because you're frightened he _might_ hurt me. This," she put her hand to her collarbone, "seems to indicate quite the opposite anyway, doesn't it?"

"It's not just the Other Guy I'm concerned about," Bruce murmured, but there was definitely relief dawning in his expression. "I've got enemies."

"So do I. Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., remember? I've got a great big HYDRA target painted on my back, especially after infiltrating their labs. It makes me feel quite safe to think I have an Avenger looking out for me, actually." Wanting to remove the residual anxiety from his expression, Jemma wound her arms around his neck. "Is there an Avenger girlfriends club? Do I get automatic membership for being your soulmate?"

A smile curved Bruce's mouth. "There's only Pepper. And Jane Foster, but she's still in London. Romanoff would kill us all if we tried to designate her as an 'Avenger girlfriend' because of Barton."

That made Jemma giggle. She looked at him a bit shyly under her lashes, but it was an open invitation, and Bruce wasn't about to turn her down. _Damn, he was a lucky man_: he knew all about Doctor Jemma Simmons and her brilliant mind, _and_ she was beautiful enough to make any man take notice. He leaned in, closing the gap between them, watching as her eyelids fluttered closed. Their lips met softly, and then with greater intensity. Bruce's arms tightened around Jemma as she kissed him back.

_I'm not letting you go. I'll keep you safe. Even from HIM_, he vowed silently. Not knowing that almost identical thoughts were running through Jemma's head.

"I could really do with that rescue right about now," Jemma whimpered into the darkness. Every single part of her body hurt. She couldn't believe she'd been stupid enough to fall for that call to do a 'special consultation' with the Army at Fort Meade. With Coulson, May and the rest of the 'kickass squad' as Skye called them, out of the country, there'd been no one to point out to her just how dim she was being. She'd flatly refused the order from General Ross to look into the video camera and ask Bruce to come for her, though.

A severe beating later, Ross had grabbed her hair and held her battered face up to the camera. "I don't need you to speak. This will speak for you," he hissed, and then addressed the camera himself. "Banner, turn yourself in. You have two hours to secure yourself in the cage we've placed for you at this address." He recited it, and then smiled nastily, running his finger across Jemma's swollen cheek. "Any attempt to retrieve your soulmate and I'll blow her head off. And if you're late getting to the cage? I'll give her to my men until I get word you're in it. She's pretty enough, even bruised up."

Jemma shuddered in fear, and the man operating the camera smiled to see it. He clicked the camera off and nodded to Ross.

They left her alone, tied to a chair, lights off so she had nothing to do but sit in the darkness and get more and more frightened. The only hope she had was the subdermal tracker that had been implanted in all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents after Coulson was taken and they couldn't find him. The trackers were a Stark creation, and Stark would be able to track them. The Avengers know where she was the second they knew she'd been taken.

_Oh God, how long had it been? Was it two hours yet?_ She was shivering, shock, she thought. She had at least two fractured ribs and she suspected her cheekbone was cracked, plus there was a slow trickle of blood from her right eyebrow that had long since glued that eye shut. She desperately wanted a rescue. But at the same time, she couldn't bear the thought of Bruce in captivity with that brutal bastard Ross. Jemma cried quietly, tears leaking from her one good eye.

_Don't hand yourself in, Bruce_, she thought. _I'd rather die than see you suffer. Don't give in because of me. You're an Avenger; the world needs you_.

"I'm not important," she said aloud, steeling herself for the ordeal to come.

"Yes, you are, sweetheart," a soft voice said, and a warm hand clapped over her mouth before she could scream. "Sshh now. Don't want to let them know we're here just yet." A tiny light began to glow, and she stared disbelievingly from her one working eye at two faces she'd only ever seen on TV.

"Damn, they messed you up. Bruce is gonna be _pissed_," Hawkeye muttered, surveying her face.

"Shut up and let's get her out of here." The Black Widow slashed the ropes holding Jemma to the chair and she toppled forward, stiff and aching after being bound for so long. Barton caught her and picked her up easily.

Jemma wanted to walk, sure Barton would need his hands free, but her legs didn't work when she tried, so he picked her up again as Romanoff picked the lock to open the door and they slipped quietly out. Once outside the room, Jemma could hear the noise. Roaring and smashing.

"Is that…?" she looked up at Barton.

"Hulk smash? Yeah. Stark intercepted the video and we flew out here, got in position before we let Bruce see it."

"WHERE MY CLEVER LADY?" the nearby roar shook the building.

"You'd better put me down," Jemma said, "or he might mistake you for the enemy."

"Clever lady indeed," Barton propped her hastily against the wall and he and Romanoff backed away as something immense and green rounded the corner.

"Hi, big guy," Jemma managed a small wave.

"Oh, shit!" a shout from Barton made her glance the other way just in time to see a wave of soldiers come down the corridor.

"NOT HURT MY CLEVER LADY!" Hulk boomed, towering over Jemma. She smiled wearily up at him.

"I'm really glad you're here."

"Get Simmons, she's our hostage…" she recognised General Ross's voice.

"YOU HURT MY CLEVER LADY HULK SMASH YOU!"

Wow, Hulk was really loud when he got going. Jemma closed her good eye and sagged towards the floor.

She came to cradled in giant arms. _Hi, big guy_ was printed neatly across an enormous green shoulder. Jemma smiled and snuggled closer. _Safe at last._

**2,000 words exactly. **

**And yes, I know that's double the length, I'm supposed to do, but technically that's Jemma with TWO soulmates, so I'm justifying it that way.**

**Besides, they're too adorkable together to do them justice in fewer words!**

**The Poll is still open if you didn't vote yet, with new options open (I forgot Loki originally, how the heck did I forget Loki?) and there will be more options eventually (more Asgardians and X-Men).**

**I'm planning to write a few more, and then close and re-do the Poll so you'll get a second round of voting. Keep following to find out when, and you can always leave a review or PM me if there's one of the new options you're DESPERATE to see written – I'll count that as a vote!**


	10. Superhero It Is, Then (Skye & Deadpool)

**Superhero It Is, Then**

_Skye/Deadpool_

"Coulson! Why have I not been invited to join your Fun Squad? I'm bored!"

"Oh, no," Coulson groaned as the loud voice echoed through the Playground. He got up from his desk and hurried to the door. "Please tell me that's not who I think it is…"

Trip and Hunter came rushing around the corner, both with guns out. "Who the fuck is that? Who's in here?" Hunter snapped. Skye came out of her office and he reached to push her back in, but she ducked under his arm, showing the ICER gun in her hand.

"What's the word, AC?" she asked.

"I'm fairly sure I know who that is and he is trouble with a capital T. Mr Wilson! Show yourself!" Coulson said loudly.

"_Sam_ Wilson, the Falcon?" Trip asked.

"Definitely not…"

A man dropped from the ceiling. Costumed in a dark red and black skinsuit, he matched Trip in height and muscle. His hands were empty, but the hilts of two long swords stuck up over his shoulders.

"Stand down!" Coulson yelled. Trip and Hunter managed to steady themselves, but Skye, younger and jumpier than the two more experienced agents, pulled the trigger.

_Oh well, it's only an ICER_… she didn't even have time to complete the thought when there was a blur of steel, and blue liquid splattered against the wall.

"What. The. _Fuck_," Hunter spoke into the silence as they stared at the masked stranger, who now held a katana in one gloved hand.

And who had apparently drawn the sword and sliced the ICER roundin halfin _mid-air_.

"That wasn't very nice, if you weren't so beautiful I might not be inclined to forgive you," the stranger told Skye cheerfully.

Skye was so shocked she pulled the trigger again.

"Well, really!" Another flash of steel, another splatter of blue on the wall.

"Skye!" Coulson wrested the gun from her grip. "Stop trying to shoot him! Trip, Hunter, Skye, this is Wade Wilson."

"Call me Deadpool," he sheathed the katana with a flourish. "Lovely to meet you. I hear you've been having fun, Coulson, and hiring _mercs_," a gloved hand pointed at Hunter, "why wasn't I invited?"

"Because you're a pain in the ass," Coulson responded blithely.

"Well obviously but I know for a fact, because I know lots of shit I'm not supposed to, that you've been going up against, let's call them, oh, _super-villains_. Because that's fun. And since your whole crew appear to be straight humans, even the Cavalry, despite what _some_ people say about her, you _need_ someone like me on your side."

Skye tugged urgently at Coulson's sleeve. "I need to speak to you _right the fuck now_," she hissed.

"One moment. Don't break anything or hurt anyone." Coulson pointed a warning finger at Deadpool. Who held his hands up innocently and started whistling _Patience_ by Guns 'n' Roses.

"What?" Coulson demanded as Skye shut his office door behind them. She was trembling.

"Soulmate," was all she could get out. "Words. His words. On my ass."

"Oh, _no_."

"_Really_?" said a startled voice outside the door.

"Super-hearing?" Skye winced.

"Apparently."

"_Shit_."

"Say it!" Deadpool opened the door and stared down at Skye, practically bouncing on his toes. "Say it, say the thing!"

"I really didn't _want_ a superhero for a soulmate!" was all she could think of.

"AWESOME!" he snatched her off her feet and spun her round merrily. "Because I'm not one! And you're _really_ hot. I'm ever so grateful," he added, turning to address apparently no-one on the other side of Coulson's desk. "Thanks!"

"You're certainly built," Skye struggled to escape his extremely muscular arms, "but would you mind very much showing me what you actually look like?"

"I'll just, uh, leave you two to get acquainted," Coulson fled. _Where's my Scotch?_ He needed to get very, very drunk. _Skye and Deadpool. Dear God._

"Sure!" Deadpool set Skye down, reached up and peeled off his red and black mask.

"Oh."

She'd always thought that the guys who fully masked their face probably did so because they were horribly scarred or something. This guy – was not scarred. He was extremely good-looking, with cropped blond hair, a straight nose, hazel eyes with intriguing glints of gold in them, and straight white teeth in a wide grin.

"Am I cute enough for you? Because really, you are _seriously_ beautiful. Amazingly exotic eyes and I _love_ your hair." One gloved finger raised to touch a lock which was dangling over her shoulder, and then moved away almost shyly.

"Do you always talk this much?" Skye couldn't help but grin.

"Often more! But you're so pretty you drive all the words right out of my head."

"Apparently not!"

"Sorry, I'll shut up. Are my words really on your ass?"

He'd shut up for all of three seconds before blurting out the question.

"Yes they are, and no, I'm not going to show you!"

"That's a shame, I'd planned to offer to reciprocate."

"My words are on your ass too?"

"Oh, no," his grin was absolutely wicked. "They're somewhere a _lot_ more intimate." He placed a hand over his groin. Drawing Skye's eyes down to the more-than-generous bulge there.

"No," she blushed. "They're not..?"

"Like I said, show me yours and I'll show you mine…"

She held him off for two whole weeks before showing him the loopy spiral of words on her left ass cheek. As promised, he reciprocated.

"You're why I became a merc," he told her cheerfully, lying on his back with his hands behind his head. "Since you didn't want a superhero for a soulmate and I didn't want to be a supervillain. Figured I'd play both sides until you made your mind up."

Her words were only completely visible once he was fully aroused. As he was now. Skye looked up at him, her eyes wide.

"Well –_ I_ believe I'm on the side of the good guys."

"Superhero it is, then!"

**997 words. **

**Mostly dialogue because Deadpool is, of course, the Merc With A Mouth. **

**And yes, Skye's words are indeed on Wade's dick. Because I have a terrible sense of humour.**

**Next up, Jemma and Bucky, which actually has a ship name I know – WinterScientist!**

**(Skye + Deadpool = DeadSkye or SkyePool?)**


	11. Here To Help (Jemma & Bucky)

**Here To Help**

_Jemma/Bucky (WinterScientist)_

"Simmons."

"Yes, Agent May?"

"Pack a bag. You're needed for a consult."

"On what, or whom? For how long?"

May frowned, an unusual expression for her. "I can't tell you. Transport's waiting." She relented slightly at Jemma's anxious look. "Neuroscience, maybe, and drug withdrawal."

She had ten minutes to grab her things. Then May showed her to a waiting car, driven by a beautiful red-haired woman who was very familiar even though Jemma had never met her.

"_Agent Romanoff_?"

"Get in."

Romanoff didn't speak again. Just drove them into the hills and eventually down a rather bumpy dirt track to what Jemma had assumed would be a rustic cabin but actually turned out to be an large, expensive-looking house.

"Stark's," Romanoff said when Jemma stared. "It's occasionally useful having rich friends."

"I can imagine." Jemma followed Romanoff into the house and into a beautifully appointed bedroom where two men were sitting, one on either side of a bed, a third man lying on it. "My patient?" Jemma moved forward, ignoring the seated men. The man on the bed looked pale and ill and _oh dear God_ it was the Winter Soldier. There couldn't possibly be another man with a prosthetic left arm like _that_.

Jemma froze for a moment in fright, but then the Winter Soldier moved, letting out a moan, and she realised he was sick. He thrashed about slightly, and the other two men, who she now recognised as Steve Rogers – _Captain America_ – and Sam Wilson, the Falcon, leaned in and grasped his arms to hold him down. Rogers had the metal arm and appeared to be using every ounce of his super-strength to hold onto it.

"What's the matter with him, how long has he been like this?" Jemma asked Romanoff as she forgot her fear and hurried towards the bed.

"We think his handlers kept him hopped up on drugs. He appears to be going through withdrawal," it was Wilson who answered. "He's been out of their hands for about three weeks: we found him the day before yesterday."

The Soldier's small convulsion had ended, and Rogers let go of the metal arm and stroked tangled black hair back from the pale, sweating face. "It's all right, Buck," he said quietly. "We've got help, we have a doctor for you."

"No doctors!" the Soldier almost sobbed. "No doctors, Stevie, please…"

"He's Bucky Barnes," Romanoff said softly.

Jemma's hand flew to her mouth in shocked horror. "_The_ Bucky Barnes?"

"Yes. We believe he's been repeatedly cryogenically frozen and thawed."

Jemma wanted to say it wasn't possible, but considering the presence of Captain America – not to mention some of the things she'd seen over the last year – she didn't. Instead she approached the bed very slowly.

"Hey, Bucky," she said softly. "You don't need to be afraid. I'm here to help you."

She didn't understand why everyone in the room reacted so strongly. Rogers, Wilson and Romanoff all whipped around and stared at her open-mouthed. Barnes – and yes, she could see that famous face in the carved cheekbones and ice-blue eyes – catapulted off the bed too fast for the others, in their shocked state, to intercept, and then Jemma choked as that metal hand closed on her throat and he pinned her against the wall, glaring into her eyes. She was only vaguely aware of the men shouting, and Romanoff making them back down for fear Barnes would crush her throat before they could pull him off.

He said nothing. Just stared at her. Slowly let his grip slacken, very slightly, until her toes touched the floor and she was able to take her weight, just slightly, and get a breath.

"Please don't kill me," Jemma finally was able to gasp out. "Please. I'm here to help. I'm not HYDRA, I'm S.H.I.E.L.D."

Only after she'd spoken did she think that might possibly not have been wise, since Bucky Barnes had obviously been brainwashed by HYDRA. And S.H.I.E.L.D. was HYDRA's enemy. But that brutal grip loosened further and finally he let go.

"How did you know the words?" he rasped out.

Jemma blinked rapidly, several times. And then she realised there was only one answer she could possibly make. Slowly, she reached up and gathered her hair in one hand. The hair she always wore long, covering the nape of her neck. She lifted her hair and turned around. Showing him the six words written on the back of her neck, just under her hairline. _How did you know the words?_

Cold metal traced over her skin, making her shiver. She'd never understood why the words faded in and out periodically. Until now.

"Mine," Barnes said softly into her ear, "you're _mine_."

She turned and found he was caging her against the wall with his arms. He was too big for her to look over his shoulder and see the other men, but from the corner of her eye she could see Romanoff, hands hovering over her guns.

"It's all right," Jemma said, mainly to reassure the other woman. "He won't hurt me. Will you, Bucky?" she reached up and touched his stubbled cheek gently.

"Never," he said fervently. "_Mine_."

It wasn't until later – much later – that Rogers told Jemma that HYDRA used to have everyone meeting Barnes for the first time speak his soulmark words. When they couldn't show him corresponding words in his own writing, he generally tried to kill them.

"They wanted to find his soulmate so they could control him completely," Rogers said quietly. "I think the only reason he didn't kill you before he even spoke back is because you told him you were S.H.I.E.L.D."

Jemma wanted to weep for her soulmate, for every agony and indignity inflicted on him over the years. Instead she stroked his dark hair gently back from his sleeping face. "I'll take care of him," she promised Captain America. "Always."

"See that you do."

**990 words.**

**Of all the ones I've written so far in this AU, I can really see this one being continued into its own story one day. You can let me know if you'd like to see more of this pairing, or any other I've written so far, by leaving me a comment!**

**Next: Jemma/Steve!**


	12. A Very Eloquent Speech (Jemma & Steve R)

**A Very Eloquent Speech**

_Jemma/Steve Rogers (BioCaptain(?))_

"Erskine's research was groundbreaking and it's a tragedy that he was so secretive, that his work has never been replicated."

"I disagree," Jemma said flatly.

The head researcher of the military research laboratory turned and gave her a condescending look. "And you would be..?"

"Jemma Simmons, S.H.I.E.L.D.," she said calmly, meeting his eyes fearlessly, despite hearing the sudden whispers around her. It was a small, select group that had received the invitation to examine the remains of the Centipede laboratory equipment. Jemma was only on the invite list because of the examinations and tests she'd done on Mike Peterson.

"Obviously the Centipede program was yet another flawed attempt," the researcher said, "but would you care to explain, Ms. Simmons…"

"_Doctor_ Simmons," she corrected politely. "And yes, certainly, I'll tell you why I believe it's a good thing Erskine's serum has never been replicated. Erskine said it himself. _It makes the good, better, and the bad, worse. _Despite his physical limitations – or perhaps _because_ of them – Steve Rogers was inherently a _good person_. The process that led to his being chosen was exhaustive, and a lot of people at the time disagreed with Erskine's ultimate choice."

Everyone was listening intently to Jemma's words. A tall man close by, wearing a baseball cap pulled down to shade his face, was staring hard at her. She ignored him and continued.

"But what if the wrong man had been chosen? Steve Rogers was willing to sacrifice himself to stop the Valkyrie bombings. How many other men would be – and how could anyone be _sure_? We saw the results with Centipede, and that was effectively a cheap knockoff version of the serum. Could we really take the risk of having multiple versions of Captain America running around _without_ his moral code, his beliefs of right and wrong?" Jemma fell silent for a moment, and then shrugged. "It worked once, and frankly, we got lucky with the result. I for one am glad that we aren't rolling the dice, taking the risk of creating super-humans who can't be matched or stopped, because no one can know the deepest corners of someone else's heart."

It was very quiet for a moment, and then the tall man applauded. The lab head had seemed about to say something, but instead he looked away with a sniff and gestured the group to follow him. Jemma was about to trail after them when the tall man put a hand on her arm to stay her.

"That was a very eloquent speech, ma'am."

Jemma stared in surprise for a moment. She'd been seeing those exact words all her life, written in an elegant, old-fashioned script along the inside of her left arm. _Well. How lovely_. It seemed her soulmate was a fellow scientist, otherwise he wouldn't be here. He even shared her taste in conservative clothing, looking at his chinos, white T-shirt and smart navy sport coat. Rather gorgeous, too – she couldn't see the colour of his hair under his cap but he had a very handsome face and broad shoulders, tapering to a waist barely bigger than her own.

_Lucky me_, Jemma thought, and then realised she hadn't spoken back. She smiled rather shyly. "Thank you very much. You have an interest in the subject?"

He blinked stupidly long lashes over lovely blue eyes. "You might say that. Uh… are you… is this your writing?" He stepped forward and pulled up his white T-shirt to reveal a ridiculously well-muscled stomach, Jemma's neat handwriting printed across his six-pack.

"Yes," she smiled nervously. "Um – Jemma Simmons."

Steve smiled down at her, thinking he'd definitely lucked out in the soulmate department. Doctor Simmons was very pretty, very clever – and she had that English accent that did strange things to his insides. _He'd always been a sucker for pretty, decisive English chicks_, he thought derisively. He'd never had a soulmate mark in the old days, but her words had been etched into his stomach when he woke from his long sleep.

"Yes, I heard that." He smiled, let his shirt drop – _shame, it had been quite a view_ – and held out his hand. "I'm Steve Rogers."

**698 words.**

**I wrote 5 different versions of Jemma's reaction to that and wasn't happy with any of them. So in the end I decided to leave what happens next up to your imagination!**

**EDIT: the lovely remerkaba has continued this, and here's the link**

** s/10945354/1/A-Very-Eloquent-Speech**

**please head on over and leave her a comment to say thank you!**


	13. You're The Vampire? (Jemma&Johnny Storm)

**You're The Vampire?**

_Jemma/Johnny Storm_

"Fascinating!" Jemma peered into the microscope eyepieces, adjusting the focus minutely. "The leukocytes appear perfectly normal, but the moment any foreign biological material is introduced, they literally _heat_ the invading bacteria or virus to destruction. Utterly fascinating, I've never seen anything like it – even Captain America's blood samples don't do this – who did you say the samples were from, again?"

"John Storm," Phil said, smiling slightly at Jemma's enthusiasm. "The Human Torch, from the Fantastic Four."

"It's amazing, absolutely amazing, the _implications_ if this could be reproduced – do you think he might be persuaded to provide a larger blood sample? I didn't have enough to try all the viral samples – I'd love to do this in the Hot Zone labs, see if it works on AIDS and Ebola – just _think_ of it, Phil!" Jemma's eyes were shining, and Phil smiled wider.

"I'll see if I can arrange an introduction. You can put your case to him personally."

Jemma didn't watch much television – it was all so _dull_, except Doctor Who, and Sherlock – and certainly she never wasted her time with gossip magazines. She'd heard Skye mention Johnny Storm and say that he looked a good deal like Steve Rogers, though she doubted it.

So when the tall, square-jawed, buff guy walked into her lab one day she assumed he was a field agent she hadn't met before, gave him one quick glance and bent back to her work.

Johnny Storm was not used to that reaction from girls. There'd been a distinct expression of _you're not worth my time_. The scientist was young, pretty, and apparently brilliant in her field. He was bored of the beautiful vapid girls who constantly threw themselves at him; while he appreciated beauty as much as any man, he was coming to realise that he liked a challenge. That dismissive glance was as challenging as it got.

"So," he moved up behind Jemma, leaned in close and murmured in her ear, "you're the vampire?"

Her reaction was a _little_ extreme; she whirled around and stared up at him, her eyes wide with shock.

"Kidding," Johnny said with a laugh, "well, kinda. Doctor Jemma Simmons? I'm Johnny Storm, I understand you wanted some more blood samples?"

She was still staring up at him, full pink lips slightly parted. He couldn't help but wonder how her mouth would taste. She licked her lips and he was right on the verge of leaning in for a kiss when she spoke and nearly knocked him sideways with the impact of her words.

"Whatever you're willing to give me," she said, her accent precisely English, her voice soft.

His fist clenched: those words had appeared on his palm the day before his sixth birthday. Slowly he opened his hand and showed her.

Jemma looked at the broad hand he held up. Her neat, precise script tracing right along the 'heart line'. And then she began to giggle, a little bit hysterically, her hands coming up to cover her mouth.

"Oh my God. I thought you were a LARPer!"

_Vampire_. Of course. Johnny grinned, his hands coming up to catch her elbows as she shook with laughter. "Don't tell me you've been looking for me in LARP groups all these years?"

Her laughter was infectious, and he found himself joining in, thinking of her dressed up as a vampire, perhaps wearing fake fangs, a cape and a sexy black corset – his body reacted immediately to that image and he couldn't help but ask;

"Did you have a sexy vamp costume?"

Still giggling, Jemma nodded, and then saw the look he was giving her. "Oh," she sobered immediately.

"I'd very much like to see that sometime," he admitted, stroking lightly up her arms, cupping her shoulders in his hands.

"Play your cards right and maybe I'll show you," she sassed him.

"Yeah?" his hands slipped further around, one sliding down her back to press between her shoulder blades, pulling her closer, the other onto the back of her neck, stroking slightly. "I'll just have to use my imagination until then."

Jemma didn't resist, even though it was obvious what he was doing. It was kind of traditional for soulmates to kiss on first meeting, at least if they didn't hate each other on sight. She was very far from objecting; Johnny was much better-looking than she'd ever hoped her soulmate might be. Her eyelids fluttered shut as his mouth came slowly down on hers.

She was soft and sweet, everything he could have wished for, her lips parting under the gentle pressure he applied, kissing him back eagerly, her slender hands settling on his chest. A low, needy rumble built in Johnny's chest and finally he had to set her away from him, lifting his head and looking down at her. Which nearly made him kiss her again because a just-kissed Jemma was a sight to behold, her eyes soft and dreamy, her lips plump, wet and red.

"My angel," Johnny murmured, awed and grateful.

Jemma smiled up at him dreamily. "If I'm Angel, can I call you Buffy?"

**852 words.**

**And I just **_**had**_** to stop it there. Could **_**not**_** top that line.**

**That said, I have a little continuing headcanon where he calls her Angel and she calls him Buffy and neither of them will ever explain why :)**


	14. Trust Cap (Skye & Steve Rogers)

**Trust Cap**

_Skye/Steve Rogers_ (_SkyeCaptain_)

_Trust Cap_, the sign on the desk read. Steve grinned wryly, looking down at it. Thinking that Coulson must have infected his whole team with his Captain America fanboy-itis. Or whatever it was called. He reached down to pick it up. There was an ominous click behind him that his brain instantly registered as _gun_.

"Step _away_ from the sign."

_Well, _that's_ an interesting development_. Steve had woken from his decades-long sleep with those exact words on the sole of his left foot. He hadn't even known until one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. medics pointed it out. _Did Coulson know? Was this some sort of Coulson-fucking-with-his-head prank? _The possibilities raced through his brain. _Well, I need to say something distinctive so the lady pointing the gun at me realises I'm her soulmate and doesn't shoot me in the back_. He considered '_But I _am_ Captain America!_' and immediately decided against it.

"I didn't intend to invade your privacy, ma'am."

A gasp behind him told him that it _wasn't_ a Coulson prank, and he turned around slowly, hands up, to find a petite brunette lowering a gun, a startled look on her face. And _hoo boy_, was that ever a pretty face. Bucky would have been all over the dame like a rash.

It still hurt, thinking of Bucky, but Steve suppressed the wince. "I could give you a sample of my handwriting, if you wish," he offered politely. It had been considered very rude, back in his day, to ask to see your soulmate's words on first meeting. "Or I could take my boot off and show you my foot."

"Is that where my words are on you?" she holstered the gun at the small of her back and came forward, dark eyes never wavering from his face. "And am I hallucinating, or are you really Steve Rogers?"

"The sole of my left foot, and yes. Pleased to meet you…?" He gave her an inquiring look, holding out his hand. She placed hers in it, a small hand, fine-boned, with long slender fingers. She had an exotic tilt to her dark eyes that made him think she might be mixed-race, but it was a mixture that had produced an astoundingly beautiful result.

"Skye. Just – just Skye." She gasped a little, but didn't try to run away when he lifted her hand gallantly to brush a light kiss over her knuckles.

He was bigger than she'd expected. Not taller – he was six foot two, everyone knew that, plus all Captain America's other vital statistics. But he had a _presence_ that made him seem to fill the room, even dressed in chinos and a plaid shirt over a white T-shirt. He towered over Skye, made her feel small and delicate in a way no one else ever had, not even W…

She wasn't even going to _think_ that name in Steve Rogers' presence. _He, _the other, _had_ no soulmark. Possibly no soul, considering what he'd done. And in the bright, healing light that was Steve's presence, the knowledge that the universe had found _her_ worthy to be _Captain America's_ soulmate – that dark memory burned up and blew away like ashes in the breeze.

"So, _just_ Skye," he smiled, his stunning blue eyes crinkling at the corners, "can I buy you a cup of coffee and you can tell me all about my soulmate?"

He wouldn't push her too fast. He'd never ask for more than she was willing to give, Skye was sure, and the frozen ice in her heart melted just a little, thinking about it. She'd spent too long being afraid, running from her demons. The idea of having such a shield against the world – oh yes, the Fates knew what they were doing. If there was one man in the world with whom she could trust her heart, her secrets, her _everything_, it was this one.

"I'd love a cup of coffee, Steve," she tightened her hold on his hand. "And while my story isn't quite as dramatic as yours, it's pretty crazy."

Steve shrugged. "I share quarters with Tony Stark, the Asgardian God of War, a part-time giant green rage monster and two assassins with _serious_ trust issues. I think I've heard enough crazy childhood stories that one more won't shock me."

Skye's smile was crooked. "You might be surprised. And weirdly enough, my story coincides with yours a bit, when back in '45 a Nazi scientist came across my mother, and an SSR commander named Peggy Carter saved her life…"

**757 words.**

**Sorry, but I can't get any more fluffy than that after watching the latest Agents of SHIELD. I'm too freaked out. **

**And sorry to any SkyeWard fans out there. I just don't know what to make of Ward, but since in this soulmark AU they're clearly NOT meant to be together, I'm writing him in as a mistake Skye would rather forget.**


	15. What Are You? (May & Wolverine)

**What Are You?**

_Melinda May/Wolverine_

(Caverine?)

"I'm getting really sick of these guys," May snapped as she took down another one of the Centipede-enhanced soldiers with a strategically-placed kick behind the ear followed by an ICER round to the back of the head. She wasn't even sure who she was talking to; no one, probably, as Trip, Hunter and Bobbi were fighting their way to the control room so Skye could hack the Centipede eye-controllers. May had volunteered to hold the corridor leading to the control room.

Well, not so much _volunteered_ as realised she was the best person for the job and ordered the others to go on. Finding out that Cybertek had another Centipede lab, Coulson had decided they needed to shut the place down immediately.

So here they were, another fun adventure in Canada – why did she keep ending up ass-deep in snow? May _hated_ snow – fighting off more bloody super-soldiers.

"It was more fun when I only had to fight straight humans," she told the next soldier, who apparently took her remark the wrong way.

"I'm not gay!"

"Don't even think about trying to prove it," May shot him between the eyes with her last ICER. "Damn." She reached to get a replacement magazine, realised she wasn't going to get it loaded before the next soldier got to her, and scowled. Fine, back to hand-to-hand it was. She set herself, preparing for pain. These guys were bigger, faster and stronger than she was. Didn't mean she was going down easy.

"You're real gutsy for a little chick," a rumbling voice said behind her, and then a hulking figure _blurred_ past her and plowed into the soldiers.

Melinda May had thought there wasn't much left in the world that could shock her. The man in front of her did on _three_ counts. Firstly because he had what appeared to be foot-long, brutally sharp metal _claws_ coming _out of his hands_. Secondly, because he moved faster than anyone she'd _ever_ seen. And thirdly – because he was apparently her soulmate. He'd spoken the words that had been twined around her left calf since the day of her birth.

She took a moment to load a fresh cartridge of ICERs, but other than that she could just stand there, because the clawed man was tearing through the enhanced soldiers like a hot knife through butter. Finally they were all down and he turned and came back towards her, claws dripping with blood, red smearing his white wife-beater. May raised the ICER gun and pointed it at him.

"Not a step closer until I know what you are."

He raised bushy dark eyebrows and held his hands up. The claws retracted with a snicking sound, and May saw to her horror that the skin between his knuckles healed instantly. _Instantly_. _Nobody_ healed like that.

"My name's Logan." He had a really deep, raspy voice that sounded as if it came from down around his boots.

"I didn't say _who_. I said _what_."

"Which is interesting phrasing, don't you think? _Soulmate_." He reached up and casually ripped his shirt in half down the middle, revealing a spectacularly sculpted hairy chest and perfect abs. Her slanted scrawl traced right across his stomach, just under his navel.

May didn't lower the gun. "_What_. Are. You."

"Your backup." He faced her, apparently unfazed by his soulmate holding him at gunpoint. "Soon as you radioed in to Coulson that you thought you might be outmatched, he called my boss, who called me, knowing I was in the area. My boss, by the way, being Charles Xavier. You can call me Wolverine if you want. I'm one of the X-Men."

_Ah. Born, not made_. Well, if he was one of Xavier's… May lowered the gun.

Logan – Wolverine – smiled. It was a rather nice smile, despite the craggy, battered roughness of his face, with its thick sideburns and stubble. "Don't know about you, but I reckon the Fates knew what they were doing. You look like my kind of gal. Gorgeous and absolutely kickass. I know a real seedy bar 'bout twenty miles from here. You wanna go get smashed on bourbon with me?"

"I'm not falling for that. You can't even _get_ drunk, can you?"

"No, but it'd be fun to watch you get hit on by burly bikers and then beat the shit out of them."

May licked her lips, tempted. He was, after all, rather delicious. "Who beats the shit out of them, you or me?"

"I'd love to watch you do it, but never let it be said I can't take care of my gal." He gestured theatrically around at the pile of fallen bodies. One of the men May had ICERed earlier – the one who'd misinterpreted her 'straight humans' comment – started to twitch. Logan kicked him hard behind the ear.

"May, we're in – oh, hello, Logan," it was Bobbi, running up behind her. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Finding my soulmate," Logan gestured at May, "and going to get drunk with her. Going to get _her_ drunk, anyway. She's so kickass I'm in love already. Is that your name, May?"

The slight smile that very few people ever saw began to curve May's lips. "Melinda May," she said. "Just call me May."

"No nickname or code name?"

May sensed rather than saw Bobbi open her mouth, and took a smooth step sideways to land on the taller woman's foot. "Not that anyone dares to use."

"Maybe you'll tell me after enough bourbon." He wiggled those bushy eyebrows at her. "You got it under control here, Birdy?" he addressed Bobbi.

"Yeah," Bobbi watched in amazement as Logan stepped over the body at his feet and offered his arm to May. And May _took it_, curling her hand into the crook of his elbow and feeling his muscular bicep with that enigmatic little smile of hers.

"Y'know, I don't much like bourbon. Does this bar have vodka?"

"If not, sugar, we'll go find one that does."

**998 words.**

**I think maybe Logan's a bit too chatty, but then he's had a shock too.**

**I just have the feeling that Bobbi's gonna report this back to Coulson and he will **_**actually**_** have a heart attack. **

**Incidentally, I have been having Fun with Photoshop (badly) and have now implanted images for all these pairings into this fic on Ao3 (can't do it here). My favourite is probably the May/Stark one I've used for the cover here, but I'd love to hear which you like best!**


	16. Good View? (Darcy & Trip)

**Good View?**

_Darcy Lewis/Antoine Triplett_

TripShock?

"Trip, take these down to Coulson for me, would you please?"

"Sure, Koenig," Trip had long since given up trying to figure out which of them was Billy and which was Sam. He accepted the two lanyards. "Who're they for?"

"Doctor Jane Foster – Thor's gorgeous brainy squeeze – and her assistant Ms. Lewis." It was definitely Sam, Trip decided, as the next thing he did was mime extremely large bosoms with his pudgy hands in front of his chest. "Or Ms. Look-At-Those-Bazongas, as Sam calls her." _No, dammit, it was Billy_. Trip sighed.

"Tell Sam to keep his mind out of the gutter and show some respect." He vowed that the first thing he'd do on meeting Ms. Lewis would _not_ be to look at her breasts.

_Holy shit, look at those bazongas…_

"Gettin' a good view there, tall dark and studly?" the pretty and extremely stacked brunette arched her eyebrows at him.

"Oh, you did _not_ just say that," Trip said, shocked.

"Of course I did, I have no brain to mouth filter and bosoms like canteloupes, you think I haven't come up with a series of snappy catchphrases to embarrass guys who I catch staring at my boobs?"

Darcy's brain caught up with her mouth then, and she blinked. "Wait. You're not just another guy who's shocked by my runaway mouth, are you?"

"I think I might be your soulmate."

"Well," she took a third look. She'd already had a second after he walked into the room, because one hadn't been nearly enough to do him justice. He was about six foot tall and built like a brick wall. "Clearly the universe likes me after all. Jane! Jane, come look, I've got a studly soulmate! I'm totes gonna climb you like a tree later," she told Trip, who hadn't been able to close his mouth for a good couple of minutes.

Dr. Foster came over, gave Trip an assessing and quite appreciative look, listened to Darcy's babbled explanation and then very kindly, if unsubtly, ushered everyone else out of the room, leaving Trip alone with her, though not before Coulson gave him an amused look and Skye started laughing her ass off.

"So what's your name, hot stuff?" Darcy hoisted herself up to sit on a table, swinging her legs. "I mean, I can keep calling you hot stuff, but it'd be nice to know your name and you already know mine…"

"It's Antoine," he admitted, "Antoine Triplett, but _please_ call me Trip. Only my grandmother calls me Antoine."

"Yeah?" Darcy gave him another slow once-over, and he felt his body respond. Because she might have a mouth like a runaway train, but _damn_, she was one hell of a fine-looking woman. A slow smile curved his lips as her eyes lingered in open appreciation on the breadth of his shoulders.

"Wanna see my soulmark?" he offered, slipping off his jacket and gathering the hem of his shirt in his hands.

Darcy licked her lips. "Sure," she said. _Was it hot in here?_ It was _definitely_ hot in here. Even hotter as he pulled his shirt slowly off over his head to reveal a beautifully sculpted chest. _Oh. Wow. That is – that is one hell of a view. Am I drooling? I think I'm drooling._ She stared helplessly at his chest, not even bothering to look for the soulmark.

"And you accused _me_ of ogling _your_ chest," Trip teased, finally seeing her lost for words. Moving closer, he leaned over her, planting his hands on either side of her on the table. "Cat got your tongue at last, Darcy? Or have I just found the only way to shut you up?"

"Do you taste as good as you look?" her dark blue eyes slid up to his, very wide, her voice soft and breathy.

"Wanna find out?" he leaned in closer again, watching as her eyelids fluttered closed and her full, red-painted lips parted slightly. She was irresistible, and boy was she _ever_ gonna be a handful. _Two handfuls, technically_ – Trip pushed the filthy thought to the back of his mind and kissed Darcy.

She was certainly not a passive participant, not that he'd have wanted that. In under a minute she had her legs around his waist and her arms round his neck, her fingers running over his shaved head, scratching erotically at his scalp. And in under two minutes he'd lost any inhibitions he might once have had and let her pull him down on top of her, his face in that magnificent cleavage, exploring her breasts with his mouth as erotic little moans spilled from her kiss-swollen lips.

"Trip, can you give me a hand with – never mind." Mack's voice behind him, followed by the closing door, brought Trip back to his senses. Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his head, pulling back and meeting Darcy's eyes.

"You're gonna be trouble, aren't you?"

She grinned up at him, not remotely concerned that they'd just been caught making out on a table. "You wouldn't want me any other way."

"Pretty sure I'll want you any way I can get you," he admitted, unable to take his eyes from her gaping, unbuttoned blouse.

"Very glad to hear it. Button me up, stud."

"That's just cruel!"

Outside the door, Mack heard them laughing and shook his head with a grin. Well, Trip deserved to be happy. But Mack was gonna make him disinfect that damn table before they all had to eat dinner off it.

**920 words.**

**And after Mack totally stole the show in What Happens In The Car… (a short fic I wrote filling in a distressing gap in AoS S2 Ep 8, if you didn't read it yet) I now have a headcanon that he keeps walking in on people gettin' busy and then bitching about how much disinfectant he has to buy.**

**Now, I am planning to reload the Poll later today my time – tomorrow morning US time – so there will be a second round of voting starting then. I have about 50 options to go up so I am gonna be nice and give you EIGHT picks this time around. If you think of any more pairings/triads/quartets you'd like to see, message me ASAP so I can get them on there; they will be written STRICTLY in order of most-votes-first.**

**BUT. **_**Please**_** bear in mind that the pairing/triad/quartet must include AT LEAST one AoS character AND one 'MCU' character who is NOT 'generally' AoS (Maria Hill, for example, is OK with characters she hasn't met – Trip, Mack, Hunter). If I have one more person ask me for SkyeWard or Clintasha I am GONNA SCREAM. The POINT of this body of work is that these pairings ARE unusual and tricky to write; it's a self-challenge which you guys get to read and laugh over.**

**If you are reading this on , you may also be interested to know that over on Ao3 I am implanting (badly Photoshopped by me) images of the soulmates at the beginning of each fic, so that hopefully it will help you visualise how they might look together. My favourites so far both involve Tony (surprisingly!), being IronCavalry and IronSkye, but I'd love to hear your opinions on both fics and images. And anything else. I want to add a theme song for each pairing as well and I'd love to hear suggestions, the crackier the better!**


	17. It's All Gone Quiet (Skye & Darcy)

**It's All Gone Quiet**

_Darcy/Skye_

SkyeShock

Skye's finger hovered over the DELETE key as she looked at the email. Anything from Miles titled 'Help!' could only be bad news. In the end she sighed and opened the message. A minute later she was on her feet shouting for Coulson.

"Explain this to me again," May said as she deftly piloted the quinjet towards their destination.

"HYDRA have taken Dr Foster and her assistant Miss Lewis," Skye said patiently, "and because they are smart people who don't want to die, Foster and Lewis have co-operated like good little scientists. Thor's off-world right now, and they daren't try to make contact with any Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D. in case they're caught. But apparently Darcy – Miss Lewis – also fell for Miles' dubious charms at one time. She's done a bit of Rising Tide work here and there and she figured if she sent him a coded message it wouldn't raise suspicions because they're not exactly legit. Miles passed it on to me."

"Clever," May acknowledged. "You know her?"

"We haven't met, but I know _of_ her. She's a fairly decent hacker. Not in my league but then I believe she actually intended to live a primarily straight life. That plan went to hell in New Mexico when an Asgardian fell out of the sky, and she's been playing in the deeper waters ever since, trying mainly to keep Dr Foster out of trouble."

May said nothing more, and Skye concentrated on preparing their weapons. Coulson had sent Trip with them, and Fitz to operate the DWARF drones, but he could only spare the four of them for a few hours. They had strict orders to take Dr Foster and Miss Lewis to Avengers Tower afterwards. The retrieval shouldn't be too much trouble: the women were being held at a small astronomical observatory in Newfoundland, their captors relying on the inhospitable, remote location to keep the women from trying to escape. Skye had remotely hacked the facility's security cameras and detected only eight guards.

"These guys must be dumber than a bag of hammers," Trip looked at the feed on the DWARF control tablet over Fitz's shoulder. "Who the hell kidnaps Thor's girlfriend and expects to survive the experience?"

"I got the impression that they've threatened to kill Lewis if Foster steps out of line," Skye answered him.

"Assholes!"

"Typical HYDRA tactics. You ready? And bear in mind that the goons probably won't shoot Foster but they won't hesitate to use Lewis's life as a bargaining chip," May said.

Skye and Trip nodded crisply and ran after her. Three small explosions later and they were storming in through three brand new holes in the observatory's walls, racing towards the laboratory where security cameras showed Lewis and Foster were currently alone.

Skye got to the lab doors first and stood with her back to them, determined to hold the doors against any assault. Gun raised, she sighted down the approach corridor. She could hear shouting and gunfire in the distance, but both May and Trip sounded calm and collected on the comms.

"It's all gone quiet, is everything all right?" a small voice asked behind Skye. She couldn't help a scream of fright, though she managed to keep from pulling the trigger. "Oh God, sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, only you're obviously not HYDRA…"

Skye turned to see a young woman, obviously about her own age, staring at her from wide blue eyes. She was quite beautiful, with dark curly hair, porcelain-pale skin and full, plush lips.

"Everything's going to be fine," Skye said, smiling widely, unable to help herself. "Just fine."

"Oh!" the blue eyes went even wider, and then Darcy smiled. "Hello."

"Hello, yourself."

Two slender hands moved together, clasped for a brief moment. And then Skye had to turn away as she heard May calling her name.

"I'm here, May! Miss Lewis is here, she's safe – where's Dr Foster?" Skye glanced over her shoulder at Darcy, who had crept closer and now pressed lightly against her back, one arm sliding gently around Skye's waist.

"I stuffed her in the supply cupboard as soon as I heard the gunshots," Darcy shrugged. "We could probably let her out." She was maybe an inch taller than Skye, if that, her breath warm and sweet on Skye's cheek. Skye wanted quite desperately to kiss her soulmate, but May would _literally_ kill her if she pulled something that stupid in the middle of a mission. Instead she leant her cheek against Darcy's for a moment.

"Later," she promised. "Gotta deal with bad guys now. You and me, _later_."

"Later," Darcy acknowledged, giving her waist a gentle squeeze. "I'll get Jane. I take it we're leaving?"

"Well I'm not leaving you here and I don't think they'll be throwing a welcome party," Skye quipped, and was rewarded with Darcy's wide smile again.

"BRB, soulmate!"

Jane Foster turned out to be tiny, beautiful, and very, VERY angry. On finding out that Darcy and Skye had just discovered they were soulmates, she turned to Skye as they climbed into the quinjet, Trip gallantly helping Jane through the deep snow.

"Best of luck, Agent Skye. You'll need it."

"I think I already found it," Skye said, feeling Darcy's hand steal softly into hers again. She squeezed, her eyes shining. _I don't have to be alone any more_.

**897 words.**

**I originally thought this might be platonic. But sexy!Darcy is in my head now after writing the last one with her and Trip. She's a bit gentler and more toned down in this fic, but I do think she and Skye would be lovely together.**

**Aaaand – the new Poll is up – knock yourselves out, you get a second chance to vote now! So many options (over 50) I have given you EIGHT to pick that you'd like to see written. But if there's an option you WANT TO SEE (not just one I haven't put up – there are literally thousands of possibilities) message me BEFORE voting so I can add it.**


	18. I Can Jump No! (Clint & Skye)

_Clint/Skye_

SkyeHawk – which sounds COOL.

"Coulson, I'm trapped!" Skye shouted.

"Where are you, Skye?"

"Still in my sniper perch on the top level, but the Hulk smashed the ladder on his way past and now I can't get down!"

This mission had been a total crapshoot. Skye silently cursed Coulson under her breath; _why_ hadn't he checked in with Maria Hill, their Avengers liaison, before coming out here? Now they and the Avengers were on the same mission at the same damn time with two totally different plans, and the whole thing had gone straight to hell.

"I don't suppose I could beg a lift off Iron Man?" Skye whimpered a bit hopefully. The whole structure of the catwalk she'd been perched on – taking out HYDRA agents with her sniper rifle very handily until the explosions started going off – was starting to shake in a very unnerving way. The only flaw in her plan was that Iron Man had zoomed out five minutes ago and not returned.

"I see her, Coulson, I'll take care of it," a low, calm voice said over the com.

_Who the hell was that?_ Skye felt the catwalk begin to shake even harder – the Hulk was smashing stanchions down below – and retreated, grabbing onto a beam that looked more stable than most.

She was just in time. The catwalk dropped from beneath Skye's feet, and she clutched frantically at the beam, suddenly dangling by her arms, unable to keep from letting out a panicked scream.

"Here!"

She turned her head to see a man coming at her, swinging from a steel cable, one arm outstretched to grab her. She twisted towards him and reached out a frantic hand as he got close. He landed lightly against the wall, bracing on the soles of his feet, and slipped his arm around her waist.

"I got you, sugar," that low voice said in her ear. "Just hang on tight."

Skye flung her arms around him as he pushed off again. He had black tactical gear on and she grabbed onto a strap across his lower back. She didn't speak; if she did she might shock him into letting go, and frankly her own hands were shaking too much to trust her grip just now. Instead she clung on tightly, putting her head against his chest and shutting her eyes as they dropped.

"I've run out of cable; we've got to drop," he shouted then, "just hang on to me, I've got you."

"I can jump…" she opened her eyes and saw they were still at least twenty feet up. "No!" but it was too late, they were falling, and he was twisting in mid-air to make sure he landed underneath her…

"HAWK STUPID!"

They never hit the ground, and Skye opened the eyes she'd shut in horror, thinking that her soulmate was just about to sacrifice his life for her without even knowing that she _was_ his soulmate.

Hulk's giant hand deposited them safely on the ground together. And Skye looked up into Clint Barton's startled blue-grey eyes. Coulson was shouting in her ear, asking if she was all right, but she couldn't hear anything except the pounding of her heart.

His arm still locked tightly around her waist, he raised his free hand and traced a gentle finger across her cheek. His hand was trembling slightly, Clint was a little horrified to notice. But then, he'd just come damn close to sacrificing himself for a girl he didn't even know. All he knew was that Coulson valued her, and therefore she must be important. _How_ important, he could never have imagined.

His _soulmate_. This young, beautiful girl with her dark eyes and tumbling dark hair, skin as soft as a ripe peach, was _his_ soulmate. _I can jump… No!_ had appeared on his inner arm on the night of his very first performance in the circus as The Amazing Hawkeye. He'd been twelve, and the burning sensation on his bow arm had almost – but not quite – thrown off his aim. He'd wondered, back then in his long-lost youth, if she would be a trapeze performer or something like that.

"You're _Hawkeye_," her stunned whisper startled him from his trance.

"And you're my soulmate," he replied, "but right now we really need to get the hell out of here."

She followed him blindly, trusting, as he raced through a maze of fallen girders and burning equipment, twice stopping and turning to boost her over obstacles she'd have struggled to climb on her own. And then at last they were bursting out into the open air, taking in great gulps to fill smoke-ravaged lungs.

"Skye! Skye, report!" Coulson sounded near-hysterical over the com. Clint thumbed his own on.

"She's all right, Coulson, I got her. Smoke inhalation, but we'll both be fine. We're outside the southwest corner of the building."

"Thank God," he heard Coulson's sigh of relief. "Take care of her, Barton, we'll be there shortly with medical assistance."

"Always," he said softly, "she's my soulmate." He didn't bother to listen to whatever creative curse Coulson would come up with in response to that bombshell. Just pulled his com from his ear and moved closer to his soulmate. _Skye. Her name was Skye_. She looked up at him from her soot-smudged face and smiled.

"May I kiss you?" he asked, and her smile widened.

"Considering your reputation for doing whatever the hell you like, Agent Barton, I'm surprised you bothered to ask."

"I don't care what other people think of me," he shrugged. "Only what _you_ think."

"I think I'll be very disappointed if you _haven't_ kissed me before my team get here."

"I shouldn't care to disappoint a lady," he murmured, before slipping his arm around her again, dipping his head. She reached up to close the distance between their lips eagerly.

They were kissing so passionately when Jemma found them that she had to cough loudly twice and then shout Skye's name to get her attention.

**996 words.**

**This one now has a sequel, by my friend and reviewer KennaWynters. Who is a HUUUUGE Clint fan and writes him very well, so get on over there and check out **_**I Can Jump… No!**_** and leave her a review!**


	19. Prior Consent (Jemma & Tony)

**Prior Consent**

_Jemma/Tony Stark_

IronScientist

This could _not_ be happening. Everyone knew that sex pollen was a myth, a story used to haze rookie agents. There was _no_ documented evidence of its existence. And Form 7A WF 83429 was a stupid joke. Jemma couldn't even remember what she'd scribbled in the box that said '_In the event of your exposure to such chemicals, who do you nominate as your preferred sexual partner?_' Because _everyone_ knew sex pollen _didn't exist_.

Which was obviously why she was now restrained to the bed in the medical bay of the Bus, zip-ties securing her wrists and ankles, thrashing and begging in a high-pitched voice for someone, ANYONE, to fuck her.

_Thank God for Agent May_, she would think later, who had taken one look at her as she staggered out of the small laboratory they'd just raided and dragged her straight to med bay.

"What happened?"

"Booby trap. Aerosol – went off – don't know what…"

They evacuated before anyone else was affected, boarded the Bus and headed home. Of course, it would normally be Jemma's job to take blood samples for analysis, but since she was the affected party Bobbi took over. She took the samples and left her alone with May, who looked thoughtfully at the way Jemma was shifting uncomfortably around in her clothes, examined her dilated pupils and promptly zip-tied her to the bed.

"It's sex pollen," was all she said. "I'll go check your form."

"It's _not_ sex pollen, that doesn't _exist_," Jemma said plaintively. "Would you mind fucking me before you go?"

May gave her a wry smile. "I'm locking you in so no one can get to you and you can't get out. Don't want any serious mistakes made we'll all regret later."

_Who did I put on the form? Oh please, God, don't let it have been Fitz_. Their friendship was on shaky enough ground. It had been so long ago, and she remembered snorting over the form and writing something flippant.

The look on Coulson's face when he came to the door with May told her it _had_ been a flippant answer. _Oh no. Please tell me I didn't write Micky Mouse or something…_

"Jemma, we've been able to contact your preferred partner. He'll be joining us in about twenty minutes or so. I didn't know you knew – well. Won't be too long, anyway."

"Too long, can't you fuck me until he gets here?" Jemma said desperately.

Coulson fled.

May grinned, came in and shut the door behind her. "Jemma Simmons, I never thought you had it in you." She had a syringe with her, which she connected to the IV Bobbi had put in her arm. A mild cooling sensation washed over Jemma, temporarily reducing the intense, frantic need she felt. "There; that should help for a little while. Tide you over until he gets here."

"_Who?_ What did I write down, I can't remember!" she yelped.

May's smile disappeared. "Are you serious?"

"I thought the form was a fucking joke, I wrote something flippant!"

"Oh, shit," May frowned. "Jemma, you're no longer capable of giving consent…"

"Just tell me who!"

"Jemma, you wrote _Iron Man_. Who is Tony Stark, of course."

Jemma's eyes went very wide. "Oh my God." She remembered now. It had been just after Iron Man's first appearances. She, like so many others, had been fascinated with the anonymous hero.

"If you don't want to…"

"No. I mean, yes. Look, he's really attractive and I've been crushing on him for years, as you well know."

"Mm-hm." May was biting her lips, clearly trying not to laugh.

"He actually _consented_?" Jemma couldn't believe it.

"We sent him a picture of you," May failed to suppress a snort of laughter then. "I think he might be lonely now that Potts married Banner. He was suited up and out the door in about fifteen seconds."

That, at least, was a little gratifying. Jemma thought about it while May left her alone. Tony Stark, _Iron Man_, had dropped everything, jumped into his suit and was zooming even now to her rescue. It might even be sort of romantic if the rescue didn't need to involve having sex. May had told her bluntly that she'd seen this particular chemical before, and while it should wear off in about twenty-four hours, she would become dangerously ill unless she had sex.

"She's beautiful," Tony Stark, divested of his armour, stood outside the medical bay and stared at the young woman inside. She wasn't aware of him yet, writhing and twisting in the restraints. "You're sure about this? I mean, I'm far from unwilling, but…"

"She identified you on the form," May told him. "And now she's in an altered mental state, anybody else touching her would be non-consensual. It needs to be you."

"Well," Tony shrugged. "Can I take the restraints off her? Not that it might not be fun, another time…"

"Yes, you can, Stark, just get to it. And don't worry. You won't be disturbed."

"All righty then." Tony took a deep breath and slid the door open. The pretty young woman on the bed snapped her head around to look at him.

"I hear you might need some help?"

Golden-brown eyes blinked surprisedly. "That's not _at all_ what I expected you to say," she said in a precise English accent.

Tony's mouth fell open. "But you _were_ expecting someone to say that to you eventually, weren't you?" he moved closer. Reached down to stroke her hair back from her face.

Jemma nodded, staring at him unabashedly. He was even more handsome in person than the countless glossy magazine images she'd pored over in the last few years.

And he was _her_ soulmate.

"Well," Tony shrugged. "It might not be ideal to have to do this within a few minutes of first meeting, but hey, it might eliminate some awkward dancing around, hmm?"

"Shut up and fuck me _now_," Jemma demanded.

"As you wish…"

**993 words.**

**Tony just got VERY LUCKY.**

**This one's totally out of order from the Poll voting but I just don't care. I was driving back from Brisbane today and the plot just dropped into my brain, complete! Bless that crazy plot fairy.**

**I'm getting so many requests for sequels. And so many of them are just not going to happen. Therefore, if you are a writer (or an aspiring writer) and one of these Shorts has just kicked your muses into gear, please get in touch. Ideally with a plot already roughed out. I'd be delighted to collaborate with anyone who particularly wants to write on from a beginning I've created here!**

**I reserve the right to politely say no and ask you not to take offence. Jemma/Bucky in particular is one I already have a continuing story for. And if you're continuing something I started, I'd prefer sight of it before publishing so I can be a picky bitch and correct any particularly egregious errors!**


	20. I'm So Scared (Steve & Bucky & Skye)

**I'm So Scared, Please Help Me**

_Steve/Bucky/Skye_

SkyeStucky? Stuckye? CaptainWinterQuake?

**Contains SPOILERS for AoS S02ep10.**

**I'm giving myself an extra 1,000 words for double pairings, for a total of 2,000.**

**You don't mind, do you? Thought not.**

_Steve_

He'd never had a soulmark, back in the old days. So when S.H.I.E.L.D. retrieved him from the ice and thawed him out, he was a little horrified to find that he had _two_. And one of them featured a name that would haunt him forever.

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

The world would not forget Bucky Barnes – and the other Howling Commandoes – if Steve had a say in it. So he helped set up the exhibit at the Smithsonian, grieved for his friend – and yes, occasional lover, though that had been very much a secret – and mentioned Bucky every time he was interviewed.

Of course, he hadn't anticipated the fact that one of his soulmates would turn out to _be_ Bucky. A very lost, broken Bucky. It took six weeks for Steve and Natasha – using all of Stark's vast resources – to track him down after Washington, and another six months of therapy and hypnosis for Bucky to return to something like his old self.

Bruce had a theory on how Bucky and Steve didn't used to be soulmates, but were now.

"You needed your third to be born. There's documented cases of people who knew each other already, whose words spontaneously appeared when their third was born. In all those cases, it's been the _next_ words the soulmates spoke to each other, not the first."

"What do we do about her? We assume it's a _her_." Steve gestured to the second mark on his forearm. Bucky had a second mark too, in the same, distinctly feminine handwriting.

"Well, I understand you both like girls as well as guys," Bruce gave them one of his weary smiles. "Certainly from the stories Peggy Carter used to tell about you, Steve. And if Bucky was even a tenth as good with the girls as his character has always been portrayed on screen…"

"I meant what do we _do_ about her." Steve bit his lip and looked at the words on his arm. _I'm so scared_, the words said. The words on Bucky's calf were even more frightening. _Please help me._ "It seems like she may be in some kind of trouble when we find her."

"We take care of her and we deal with whatever, or _whoever_, is frightening her," Bucky rumbled. He was still, at the core, the same Bucky that Steve had known – and loved – since they were children. "HYDRA told me, when the words appeared – and _no_, Steve, I still haven't figured out exactly when, I just know both sets were on me when they defrosted me one time – that I had to kill whoever said them to me."

"I take it you've decided not to follow that order now?" Bruce raised his eyebrows.

"Definitely not," Bucky glanced sideways at Steve. "Punk's still alive, ain't he?"

"Shut up, you jerk, you certainly gave it a go."

"That was when I was still Зимний Солдат, you ass!"

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too!"

"Just go fuck, both of you. That poor girl," Bruce murmured, turning back to his lab bench. "How she's going to put up with the pair of you, I can't begin to imagine."

Steve grinned at Bucky, pulling on his wrist. "Come on, jerk."

"If people only knew what Captain America was really like." Bucky followed Steve. "Bruce is right, though. The poor girl's got no idea what she's in for."

"She needs us," Steve said quietly, later. _Much_ later. "That's why we're her soulmates. She's in enough trouble that she needs _us_."

Bucky, on the edge of sleep, rolled over and looked at him. "Then we get her out of it. You and me, Stevie. Ain't nuthin' we can't pull our girl out of."

"Sure hope you're right, Buck," Steve's hand still rested on Bucky's hip. "Because I love you, but I do miss girls."

"Me too," Bucky murmured quietly. The corner of his lip twitched up in a grin. "Hope she's pretty."

"She'll be beautiful to us," Steve said confidently.

"She'll prob'ly like you best anyway."

"That's not how it works, Buck," Steve told him softly. "She's _our_ soulmate. _Both_ of us. I'd never let anyone come between us anyway, you big jerk."

Bucky chuckled. "You sure about that?"

"You have a _filthy_ mind." Steve jabbed him in the ribs.

"You love it."

"Jerk."

"Punk."

_Bucky_

They found her in the last place they'd ever have expected. In the Avengers' Mission Room, a whole floor of Tony Stark's tower dedicated to planning and the storage of their equipment. Tony had received a surprise call from someone named Coulson – surprising largely because apparently the guy was supposed to be dead – saying there was someone he needed help with. They all gathered in the Mission Room.

The other Avengers greeted Coulson warily, and he gestured to the small, slim woman standing beside him. She had long brown hair and frightened eyes.

"This is Agent Skye. She recently had a somewhat – otherworldly experience in Puerto Rico. I – honestly think she might be better with you guys. The Avengers."

"Better how, exactly?" Tony demanded.

"Skye's developed, um, a certain power. The earth shakes at her command."

"Ah, that explains the sudden unexplained seismic activity down in Virginia," Natasha murmured, crossing her arms and giving the young woman an appraising look.

"What the hell are you doing bringing her here, Coulson?" Tony gabbled out, backing away from Skye. "You want to level New York? Christ, at least we're not in LA, you could have split the San Andreas right open!"

"I've got it under control!" Skye said sharply, the first time she'd spoken. She glared at Tony. "I just – my team treat me differently now. I'm not one of them any more." She turned to Steve, eyes beseeching. "I'm so scared."

Steve sucked in a sharp breath and glanced at Bucky. He willed himself not to react, but he couldn't help moving towards Skye.

"What do you need from us, doll?"

"Please help me," she stared up at him, tears welling in those dark, dark eyes.

"Of course," he said softly.

"I don't want to be alone any more. I've spent my whole life being alone."

"No more," Steve came to them. "You don't have to be alone any more." He placed a gentle hand on Bucky's waist and another on Skye's shoulder. "You've got us now."

"Um, what the fuck, I thought we had to _vote in_ any new members of the Avengers?" Tony said sharply. "Since when did you two get to pick and choose?"

"Since we found our soulmate," Bucky answered, since Steve seemed to be lost staring into the depths of Skye's eyes.

There was a chorus of "What? What the fuck?" and "Holy shit" from around the room, and a grateful gasp of "Oh thank God," from Agent Coulson. Skye turned to him, and he put his arms around her in a paternal hug.

"You'll be fine, Skye. They'll take care of you. I couldn't ask for anyone better."

_Skye_

They left her alone with her soulmates. Barton and Romanoff had told Tony flatly that they wouldn't be party to any attempt to separate soulmates – Skye noticed that their hands were clasped tightly together – and that therefore as far as they were concerned, Skye was in. Outvoted even before Banner and Wilson spoke up, Tony conceded with reasonable grace and invited Coulson – or 'Agent' as he called him, up to his bar for a drink.

They were both huge men, towering over her, and Skye peered up at them a bit shyly. Steve – _Captain America_, although he looked very normal, if a bit ungodly handsome, in regular clothes – was smiling brightly at her. Barnes looked more serious, but there was still joy in his deep blue eyes.

"I'd say I'm sorry for what happened to you," Bucky said, "but honestly, I'm not, because it brought you to us." He turned his arm and showed her the words on the back of his forearm.

Steve took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to Skye. She accepted it with a grateful sniff and wiped her face. "I'm sorry, I'm not making much of a first impression!"

"Quite the contrary," Steve said gallantly. "I don't know about Buck, but I'm so glad we're not having to rescue you from a hostage situation or something with bullets flying all around!"

She blinked, read the words on his arm as he pulled up his sleeve, and smiled slightly. "Oh. Yes, I can see how that would seem likely." Skye hesitated, and then turned around, pulling up the tight black T-shirt she was wearing. Their words were written in the small of her back, two lines of tight text almost on top of each other. "I guessed you two would already be together. I – if you want a platonic bond, I'd be okay with that…"

"No!" Steve and Bucky said in horrified unison.

"Not unless you really don't want to be with both of us," Steve qualified. "But – we've been waiting for you. Hoping you'd be – okay with us both."

A small smile curved Skye's mouth. "Captain America and the Winter Soldier? What girl would turn that down? But – I wouldn't want to get in the middle…"

"Really?" Bucky said with a salacious grin. "Because that's exactly where I'd want you."

"Bucky!" Steve blushed bright red and rammed an elbow into his ribs. "You jerk!"

Skye covered her mouth with her hand and started to giggle, suddenly realising the _double entendre_ she'd just made. She could feel herself blushing just _thinking_ about it. And – also getting very hot and bothered. Because there was no denying how gorgeous they both were.

Bucky, pushing his luck, moved in closer and reached to put two gentle fingers – his human hand – under Skye's chin, tipping her face up. "Since Punk here got to hear his words first," he murmured, "may I even the score by getting the first kiss?"

"No fair!" Steve muttered, but he made no real attempt to intervene, indeed moved slightly to the side to get a better view.

Skye smiled. "I'm not having you two boys keeping score over me," she said sternly. Recognising that she needed to put herself on an equal footing with them now, or they'd probably walk all over her.

Bucky inclined his head, accepting her terms. That, of course, brought his lips a good deal closer, and she couldn't help but focus on them. They were plush, pink and soft, incongruous in his chiselled, hard face. Skye licked her own lips, wondering how he'd taste. And then he kissed her.

Steve couldn't believe how turned on he was watching Bucky kiss Skye. She slipped slender arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe – she was pretty tiny, maybe five foot four, Steve reckoned – but she looked just right there in Bucky's arms. His fingers itched for pencil and paper, to capture that image. And then Bucky lifted his head, his eyes glazed, breath coming a little fast.

"Come here, punk," he held out his metal arm.

Steve approached slowly, looking at Skye a little shyly. He'd only ever kissed one girl before, and that was Peggy Carter, a long time ago by any measure. Skye looked beautiful, gazing up at him with her eyes shining, removing one of her arms from around Bucky's neck and holding it out.

"Come on, Steve. We're not leaving you out."

He joined them, feeling Bucky's arm slide around his waist, Skye's small hand on the back of his neck. She pulled encouragingly, and he put one arm around each of them and stooped to press his lips to hers.

It was a soft, gentle kiss, full of promise for the future, an acknowledgement that she wasn't ready yet. But when she was, they would both be waiting. Skye stood in the circle of their arms, both her soulmates holding her close, and let out a sigh of relief.

_I'll never be alone again._

**1994 words.**

**Obviously, this is some time post Season 2 episode 10. For those of you who didn't read any episode reviews on line or are not comic followers, we learned that Skye is Daisy (Johnson), aka Quake in comic canon. Who is an Avenger.**

**Hope you liked this! I will write more pairings where Skye is 'just an ordinary girl' but in this case I felt it was appropriate to address her new powers and what might happen to her next!**


	21. Don't Touch Him (Steve&Bucky&Jemma)

_Steve/Bucky/Jemma_

BioStucky?

**Another triad, so another 2,000 word target! **

Jemma had always been reasonably sure she'd meet her two soulmates at the same time. The soulmarks curved under her breasts like bra underwires. One, in a strong masculine hand, said _Don't touch him_! The second, spiky and jagged, said _It's all right,__ моя любовь_. So she was pretty sure that they were already together. Which would be awkward, trying to insert herself into what was probably a fairly stable, established relationship. Between what she suspected was two men. One of them possibly Russian.

She hadn't anticipated _quite_ how long the relationship would turn out to have been established _for_, though.

The first inkling she had that something was wrong was when Coulson came belting into the lab shouting her name. Phil _never_ normally ran unless things were about to start exploding, so Jemma immediately started looking for something substantial to hide under. And then he grabbed her arm – _well really!_ – and started tugging her towards the door.

"Come now," he blathered incoherently. "He's here. Needs help. Oh God."

"_Who_ is here, and let _go_, you're wrinkling my lab coat!" Jemma jerked her arm free and frowned at him.

"Captain America," Phil said reverently.

"Oh," well, that certainly explained Phil's temporary lapse of reason. "Captain America needs _my_ help? For what?"

"He found him. The Winter Soldier. Steve Rogers found him, and he's injured, and for obvious reasons he can't just take him to a hospital…"

"I see." Jemma certainly did see. They wanted her to treat some unknown condition on a super-strong, brainwashed, possibly psychotic HYDRA assassin. For some reason a line from a Monty Python film popped into her mind. "Run away bravely!" she muttered under her breath, collecting her medical bag and following after Phil.

"Say what?"

"Nothing, Director, just a stray thought! So where – oh, I see."

They were at Vault D. Sunil Bakshi had long since been removed, handed over to the military – Coulson trusted General Talbot to handle that one properly – and obviously it was the only safe place they really had to put the Winter Soldier.

"Is he really Bucky Barnes?" Jemma asked quietly as they walked down the stairs.

"Yes – or he was. HYDRA did some pretty terrible things to him, Jemma."

She pursed her lips and shook her head. Agent 33 and Donnie Gill were just the two people she'd known personally who were brainwashed into following HYDRA's leaders. But to think that they'd had Bucky Barnes, the legendary Howling Commando, Captain America's best friend, all these years – well, it was _sick_. She looked with great sympathy as they approached the transparent barrier.

"I need to stay out here," Phil told her, "to let you out when you're done. Barnes appears to be docile as long as Rogers is with him, so you should be in no danger."

Jemma was barely listening, instead staring at the two men in the vault. Barnes lay on the bed, his metal arm across his chest, his human arm dangling towards the floor. His shirt was little more than rags across his chest, his hair a tangled, filthy mess, his beard thick. He looked like a hobo.

"What's wrong with him?" she put out a hand and stayed Coulson from opening the barrier. Neither Rogers, who was sitting on the end of the bed with Barnes' legs across his lap, nor Barnes had looked up, so she guessed the screen was opaqued from their side.

"Not sure exactly. The Captain thinks that HYDRA may have kept him hopped up on a cocktail of drugs. Plus apparently they had some sort of machine – like the reverse of the memory machine we had – it wipes out memories. They put him in it regularly, but because he was serum enhanced at some point, his brain kept repairing itself. They kept him in cryo in between missions, sometimes for years at a time, so he's temporally very confused."

"So, withdrawal from unknown narcotics, possible brain damage, chemically induced psychosis and who knows what else," Jemma summed up. Phil gave her a weak smile.

"_Marvellous_." She slipped a pair of latex gloves from the pocket of her lab coat and snapped them on. "And from the look of him, probably fleas. I know you don't want to let him out, but is there any chance you could get Mack or Hunter to haul a few buckets of hot water down here so I could at least give him a sponge bath?"

"I'll see to it," Phil promised, and then he tapped on the control panel.

Captain Rogers' head snapped up, and he stared at them from penetrating blue eyes. He was dressed in his full Captain America regalia, minus the identity-concealing cowl, which hung down at the back of his neck. And he was just as beautiful as all the old images suggested. Jemma tried not to stare, but it was very difficult, with the Adonis-like perfection before her.

"This is our medical expert, Dr Simmons," Phil said as the screen dropped with a hum and Jemma walked across into the secure part of the vault with her medical bag. The screen hummed back up behind her.

"Hello," she said politely to Rogers, who only watched her from those blue, blue eyes. She moved forward, looking at Barnes, who hadn't moved. "Is he asleep?" she reached out to touch his forehead.

"Don't touch him!" Rogers said sharply, just as the metal hand _whirred_ up and grabbed Jemma's wrist in a bruising grip.

"Don't you _dare_ break my wrist!" she snapped crisply.

Eyes even bluer than Rogers' snapped open, staring at her, and then the crushing hold slowly relaxed.

"It's all right, моя любовь," Barnes said quietly, releasing her wrist gently and lowering his hand to his stomach.

_What?_

Jemma blinked. Stared at Barnes. Then at Rogers. Then down, at where Barnes was plucking away the remnants of his tattered shirt over his stomach. At that sculpted, muscled stomach – and the words printed neatly there, at the top of his abs, in her careful, precise handwriting.

_Don't you dare break my wrist._

She looked up into those knowing blue eyes, and then, because she couldn't look at him any more, she looked at Rogers. Who was staring at her with his mouth open.

"I don't suppose you have _Hello, Is he asleep_ written on you somewhere?" she said a bit pitifully.

"As a matter of fact, I do." His smile was a bit sheepish as he tugged up his sleeve to show the words she'd spoken on the inside of his muscled forearm.

Barnes let out a harsh little laugh. "You coulda _told_ me you had a new mark too, punk!"

"I didn't want to upset you! I only saw that _you_ had a new mark yesterday…"

Jemma stared from one to the other of them, barely able to believe what was happening. Captain America and his soulmate James "Bucky" Barnes were legends, a soulmate pair with a tragic ending, true, but what they'd been able to achieve together first – and now _she_ was supposed to be a third wheel in their bond?

"Inconceivable!" she said aloud.

"Why do you say that?" Bucky pushed himself up to sit upright with a pained grunt.

"Oh, don't, please," Jemma tried to revert to professionalism, pressing gently on his stomach to make him lie down. "We can talk later, if you want to. But right now I need to look at you."

"Look all you like, doll, feel free to touch as well," he gave her a roguish grin.

"I can see you're going to be a _dreadful_ patient."

Steve smiled beatifically. "She's got you figured out already, Buck."

"I'll be the best patient in the world with you to take care of me, котенок," he promised, gazing up at Jemma as she leaned over him to look at a nasty-looking gash right where his prosthesis met his body.

"I'm not a kitten," Jemma responded absently, turning to dig in her medical bag.

"You speak Russian?" Steve asked.

"I learned. I thought one of my soulmates might _be_ Russian."

"Sort of," Bucky sighed as she carefully cleaned the gash with an antiseptic wipe. "Don't worry about that, doll. It's already healing."

"It's filthy," she protested, "and it must be at least three days old, you'll get an infection if I don't clean it up."

He shook his head. "No, I got it this morning."

Jemma stared. Peered at the deep gash, which was definitely days old. Or would have been, on anyone but a super-soldier. Her hands began to shake.

Steve was the one who lunged forward and caught her before she fell, which Bucky was grateful for, because he wasn't sure he could move that quickly right now. He managed to wriggle over sideways, though, and Steve laid Dr Simmons – and they still didn't know her first name! – gently on the bed beside him.

"Bit of a shock, I should think," Bucky said, smoothing her chestnut hair back from her face. "Wow, Stevie, she's so beautiful."

"We're damned lucky," Steve was staring too. He'd barely been able to get a word out since the pretty doctor had entered the room, and once he discovered she was their soulmate – well. He looked up and out through the still-transparent barrier at an open-mouthed Agent Coulson. "Do you want me to bring her out, sir? I think she just fainted with shock."

"I _never_ faint," Jemma said weakly, snapping his gaze back to her face. "I _despise_ people who faint." She struggled to sit up. Steve pressed on her shoulder lightly to hold her down.

"Perhaps just a temporary lapse on consciousness due to shock," Steve suggested, his mouth twitching into a smile at her offended expression. Bucky was right, she was just like a kitten, all fluff and tiny sharp claws. She narrowed those soft brown eyes at him.

"I'm not complaining," Bucky said cheerfully. "Hey Stevie, I got our soulmate into bed on first meeting!"

"You're _impossible_," Steve said as Jemma turned her head and glared at Bucky. And then her expression turned even crosser.

"If you've given me fleas, Barnes, I will _never_ forgive you."

Both men couldn't help but laugh as Jemma slowly pushed herself to sit up, turning her glare on Steve when he moved to stop her again. "Don't you dare."

"котенок has claws," Bucky chuckled.

She hissed at him, and then laughed at his expression. "I suppose you could think of a worse pet name for me."

"I wanna pet you like a kitty cat," Bucky said salaciously.

"Not until you're properly cleaned up!" Jemma said firmly as he reached to stroke her hair. "God only knows what I've picked up just from sharing that pillow! Is that hot water on the way, Coulson?"

"Be here shortly," as her reply.

"Oh _no_, you're not giving me a sponge bath," Bucky realised what she intended.

"What, you _don't_ want my hands all over your naked body?" given boldness by his flirting, Jemma grinned cheekily back.

Sharp intakes of breath, and hot stares from two pairs of intense blue eyes, made her blush and look away.

"I'd like nothin' better once I'm back to myself," Bucky murmured after a moment. "But first, котенок, will you tell us your name?"

"Oh!" she went even redder. How had she forgotten to introduce herself? "Jemma. It's Jemma."

Bucky scooped her gloved hand in his and squeezed it gently. "Jemma. That's a beautiful name for a little cat."

"_Our_ little cat," Steve reached for her other hand.

Jemma looked from Bucky to Steve, and back again. And the expressions on their faces told her quite clearly that she wasn't going to be a third wheel in their relationship.

She was going to be the heart of it.

**моя любовь = my love**

**котенок = kitten**

**1961 words.**

**They're just so adorable! I think I got Jemma about right in this one, a bit of a snarky internal monologue, confident in her own field, a bit nervous when shoved out of her comfort zone.**

**The two triads, Steve/Bucky/Skye and Steve/Bucky/Jemma were runaway leaders in the voting. Next up apparently you want to see Skye with the Asgardians; Skye/Thor and Skye/Loki!**

**Don't forget to vote in the Poll if you didn't already! And remember, if you're interested in collaborating on a sequel or continuation to any of these starts, get in touch!**

**I'd like to add a theme song to each Short as well, so if you have any suggestions I'd love to hear them – I'm thinking **_**Behind Blue Eyes**_** for Jemma/Bucky…**


	22. I Vow Myself (Skye & Thor)

**I Vow Myself**

_Skye/Thor_

ThunderQuake? HammerQuake?

"You summoned me, Heimdall?" Thor strode into the Bifrost chamber. The golden-eyed Guardian turned to face him, nodding.

"Yes, my Prince. You are sworn to protect Midgard and an issue has arisen there that requires our attention."

"Not Lady Jane again?" Thor said with a small sigh. He and Jane had soon realised they were not compatible beyond the first flush of attraction, but the woman still seemed a magnet for trouble.

"No; this is on the other side of the ocean. One of the Kree devices has been activated."

"Ugh! How many are dead?"

"Only one. Two have evolved. One's power is contained within herself; she is of no concern to us. The other is who you must retrieve; a young maiden who has gained power over the element of earth. She has not yet learned control and must be removed from her element, lest she cause great tragedy all unwitting. Go to her, Prince Thor, and I will send the Bifrost to take you both to a place where she will not endanger anyone while she learns to control her powers."

The earth was shaking as they scrambled out of the tunnels and fled. Skye sobbed uncontrollably against Coulson's shoulder; May kept glancing anxiously back at them as she drove the car as fast as she dared, heading back to the Bus.

"Coulson," May said suddenly, "Look."

Phil leaned forward from the back seat, looking at where she was pointing. A feeling of dread coiled in his stomach as he saw the pattern of lightning flaring in the sky.

"Is that what I think it is?" May asked.

"It looks as though we may have drawn some attention," he said, shrugging. "Nothing we can do. Keep going. Looks like whoever it is will meet us at the Bus."

Thor was standing at the Bus's open ramp, being stared at in awe by the wide-eyed Koenig brothers, as the car pulled up. Coulson had murmured to Skye that they might be having Asgardian visitors, and she managed to suppress her tears, peering out of the window.

"It's Thor himself," Coulson muttered, spotting the red cape.

"The big guns, huh?" May said.

"The biggest."

May caught Skye's eye in the rearview mirror and smirked slightly. Skye managed a watery grin in return. Of _course_ Coulson wouldn't get the joke about Thor's arms.

Mack – who hadn't said a word since she told him what had happened to Trip – got out of the car first and stood facing Thor. As though that would do any good if the Asgardian had come to kill her. Thor was bigger even than Mack, and with that hammer… Skye's thoughts broke off as her foot touched the ground and the earth started to shake again.

"Let not thy foot touch Midgard's surface, my lady!" Thor boomed, striding forward. He took her hand in his to urge her back into the car, but as soon as their skin touched, both of them cried out.

"Ow, ow, that _burns_!" Skye squealed, trying to snatch her hand away, but even though Thor wasn't holding on, she seemed to be _stuck_ to him. And then her hand came away and she held it up, staring in astonishment as the odd circular birthmark on the palm of her hand began to fill in with swirling patterns of red and gold. Thor held out his hand, palm up, and she saw a similar pattern there, only his colours were flowing pale blue, white and yellow.

"What is it?" Skye said, horrified.

"It is a soul-bond, my lady, the way it appears among my people," Thor gazed at her in wonder. "Over a thousand years I have searched for you," he said, his deep voice low and soft, and then he dropped to one knee, gazing at her where she sat sideways on the back seat of the car, clapping his marked palm over his heart. "I vow myself to you, body and soul, my lady, as your champion and protector, for all time."

Skye stared at the god kneeling before her. At his perfectly windswept blond hair, his blue eyes, the slight scruff of stubble across his hard jaw. He looked far too beautiful to be real. Born without soulmate words on her body, she'd spent her whole life waiting for them to appear, and in the end resigned herself to being one of the Unmarked. To discover that she did have a soulmate after all, Thor himself, on this day of all days – it was just too much. She burst into tears again.

Thor clenched his jaw, watching his soulmate weep. She seemed so young, so fragile to bear such a burden. He rose and turned to Coulson, who'd been watching with his eyes almost falling from his head. "I must take her away, Son of Coul. She endangers all of you until she has learned to control her power."

"The quakes?" Coulson asked.

"Aye, Heimdall saw what has occurred and sent me to collect her. I will keep her safe, never fear."

"I know you will." Coulson offered his hand to shake. "We lost a friend today," he said, too quietly for Skye to hear. "Let her grieve."

"She will have all the time she needs, I promise you. I will send Lady Sif to you now and again, with news, until I am able to return her to you. Only one thing," Thor hesitated. "What is her name?"

"Skye," Coulson said quietly. Her father had called her Daisy, but he knew Skye well enough to know she would never use that name. "Her name is Skye."

Thor inclined his head, turned back to the car, and lifted Skye out easily, cradling her close to his chest, before striding away from the plane to a clear patch of ground.

"Where are you taking me?" Skye sobbed out.

"To a place where you need not fear," Thor told her gently. "Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!"

**993 words.**

**Decided to vary things up a little bit with the Asgardians… and I'm thinking this is another one that's just crying out for a sequel. Sometimes I think all I'm doing here is generating MORE plot bunnies I have no time to write!**


	23. It Is You (Skye & Loki)

_Skye/Loki_

**In this particular AU, Thor brought Loki's body back from Svartalfheim and found he was alive. Odin banished him to Midgard, sentenced to help the Avengers, for his crimes, when Thor pleaded for him. (Which FRANKLY is what SHOULD have happened at the end of The Dark World IMHO).**

Everywhere she walked, the earth shook beneath her feet. Terrified, she begged Coulson for answers, but he could only shake his head helplessly. And she would not, _would not_, seek out that butcher who called himself her father.

"_Someone_ must be able to help!" she said a bit frantically to May. They were aloft in the Bus, where at least the small quakes weren't following. "Someone must have learned to control these sort of powers, be able to teach me!"

May hesitated. "The only one we knew is Donnie Gill, and he drowned in Marrakech."

"What about the Avengers?" Jemma said helpfully.

"None of them have those sort of powers – except – but Coulson wouldn't," May said thoughtfully.

"What? Who?" Skye begged.

"She means Loki," Phil said from the doorway of the lab, where they were all standing around the examination table where Skye was sitting. "And ordinarily I wouldn't want you within a million miles of him, but – he _has_ changed. According to Agents Barton and Romanoff, who I do trust to know."

"Let me get this straight." May crossed her arms and stared at him. "You're planning to give Skye to the man – the Asgardian – who _killed_ you."

"I'm not _giving_ Skye to anyone! But the fact is that Loki might be the only person who can help, right now. And he wasn't in his right mind when he stabbed me. It's up to Skye, anyway – what do you want to do?"

Given the choice of Loki or her father, Skye picked the one she didn't know for sure was evil. "Loki."

"I'll make the call."

Loki arrived an hour later, in a quinjet piloted by Agent Barton, who seemed on surprisingly good terms with the man who once brainwashed him. The very first thing Loki did was turn to Coulson and deliver a surprisingly heartfelt apology for stabbing him.

"I – uh – well, I survived," Coulson stuttered, surprised.

"Still, I owe you a debt."

"You can repay it by helping Skye," Coulson felt on safer ground there.

"Ah yes, your young agent who has been affected by the Kree Terrigen device. Anything I can do, Son of Coul, I shall do."

"Well, then," flustered by Loki's unexpected charm, Phil looked at Clint, who shrugged. "All right then. Please follow me and I will introduce you to Skye."

Loki was wearing his battle armour, but not his helmet or cloak. He walked silently behind Coulson, occasionally ducking through low doorways. On entering the lab, his eyes went immediately to Skye, still sitting on the exam table.

Coulson waved everyone else out. He stationed himself by the door to watch, aware of Clint taking up a position on the other side of the door as guard.

"Lady Skye," Loki swept her an elegant bow. "I understand that you may require my assistance."

"Can you make it stop?" Skye stared up at him. He was so tall; far taller than she'd expected, he must be a good six foot five, and all of it looked lean and whip-hard. His black hair was a stark contrast to the pale beauty of his face, his green eyes standing out sharply as he stared at her. "It hurts. Inside my head, it feels like there's an extra _part_ there, and it _hurts_."

"May I examine you?" Loki held up his hands, a faint emerald-green glow shimmering around them. "It will not hurt," he reassured gently. "It may even feel a little soothing."

Skye glanced at Coulson. He nodded after a moment, and she nodded at Loki. Gently, he brought his hands to either side of her head, the green glow seeming to sink into her scalp.

For a moment, it did feel soothing, cool and soothing. And then, as Loki's hands touched the sides of her head, there was pain, cold and brittle, tingling down Skye's back. She let out a squeal, even as he cried out in surprise and stumbled back from her.

"What the…" Phil pulled his gun and pointed it at Loki, sensing Clint at his side, bow drawn. "What did you _do_ to her?"

Loki was the one who seemed to be in pain now though, his skin turning a mottled, deep blue. He went to his knees with a low cry.

"Loki!" Skye scrambled off the table and crouched before him, reaching out to touch him. He held up a hand to ward her off, but she grabbed it, and even as she did, his skin stabilised back to its usual pale colour.

"It _is_ you," he whispered, amazed, gazing at her. "Oh, my heart, I have searched so long for you!"

"I _felt_ you," Skye gasped back, "in here!" she touched her head. "You're my _soulmate_!"

"Oh, _fuck_," Clint and Phil said in unison. And then they looked at each other and beat it hastily out through the lab doors.

"I never had words," Skye said, still staring at Loki in wonderment, "I thought I had no soulmate…"

"Do you have marks on your back, like a row of circles down your spine?"

"Yes," she nodded, and he helped her to her feet and drew her over to a mirror on the wall, turning her around and lifting her shirt up. She saw, to her amazement, that the four small circles at the small of her back were now a series of what appeared to be runes.

"My name," Loki traced his fingers down the runes gently. "They spell my name, in the Jotun tongue." This small, Midgardian woman, with her dark hair and darker eyes, was his _mate_, the other half of his soul, the one he had searched for all these dark, lonely years. She stared up at him, a smile beginning to curve her lips, and he vowed silently to himself that he would protect her. No matter what the Terrigenesis did to her, he would take care of his mate.

"Skye," he said quietly, and she leaned against him, smiling.

"Loki."

**997 words.**

**I can't make Skye – or anyone else on the 'good' side – into a soulmate for 'bad' Loki. In my mind, he would need to be redeemed first. And IMHO it was a crappy move in Thor 2 for Thor to leave Loki's body behind, after Loki sacrificed himself to save Jane. Not good enough. So I re-wrote that bit of MCU history to suit my storyline!**


	24. The Cat's Mother (Skye & Wolverine)

**The Cat's Mother**

_Skye/Wolverine_

SkyeWolf

"Hi," Skye said to the tall, slender woman with dark skin and milk-white hair who opened the door of the mansion. "I'm here to enrol as a student."

"A little older than most coming into their powers, aren't you?" the woman asked, looking her over. Her face wasn't unwelcoming, though. "Most of our students are in their teens, or younger."

"I'm not X-gene positive. I'm a mutate, not a mutant. But I need help learning to control my powers, and I heard that I could find it here at the Xavier Institute."

"Hmm." The woman studied her for a moment longer, and then stepped back gracefully. "Come. I'll take you to the Professor."

Half an hour later, Skye stumbled out of Professor Xavier's study, feeling as though her brain had been turned inside out. The kindly, smiling man was easily the most terrifying person she had ever met, and that included her psycho father.

Another woman was waiting for her, young, slender, with straight dark hair with a curious white streak in the centre. Her smile was friendly, though, and her soft Southern accent welcoming.

"Hey y'all! Ah'm Rogue."

"Uh, Skye," she said, still a bit shell-shocked.

"Lovely to meet yah, Skye. Now c'n Ah show yah to yahr room?"

"Thank you." She followed Rogue along the corridor and up a flight of stairs. At the top, they met a man, dressed in grey combat pants and a white wife-beater. He had black hair that stuck up in tufts, ferocious sideburns and glittering, tawny-coloured eyes.

"Another stray, Rogue, thought you'd given that up?" his eyes raked dismissively over Skye. "Who is she?"

"Who's _she_, the cat's mother?" Skye snapped, irritated by his dismissive glance. _Who the hell did this scruffy dude think he was?_

_Oh. Well, apparently he thought he was a dangerous badass_. Skye swallowed very carefully, trying not to breathe, cross-eyed with terror at the glittering blades that had suddenly _sprouted out of the guy's hands_ right in front of her chest.

"I really hope this is just a bad joke, Rogue," he addressed the other woman.

"Logan, Ah swear it isn't, Ah swear!" Rogue looked shocked and panicked. "Ah only just met her! Skye, tell him!"

"Tell him what, that he's a _complete psycho_?" Skye could feel her powers starting to slip the tenuous leash she'd managed to get on them, feel the ground wanting to tremor under her feet. She shut her eyes and tried to focus. "Unless you want a nasty-ass earthquake wrecking this place, you need to give me space to take some deep breaths."

There was a _snick_ing sound, and she risked a glance and saw the blades retracting into Logan's hands. He was staring at her with a troubled, puzzled frown.

"Your name's Skye? Do I know you?" he asked at last.

"I'm pretty sure I've never met _you_ before," Skye said, finally feeling able to relax. "I think I'd remember."

"I'm an asshole, I'll be the first to admit that, but it's the first time anyone's said those particular words to me," he said with a strange emphasis Skye felt she should understand somehow. And then she remembered the words scribbled in a messy scrawl on the small of her back. _Your name's Skye?_ _Do I know you?_

"No," her eyes opened wide. "You _can't_ be!"

He pulled the wife-beater up and off in one smooth movement. And there, on a spectacularly defined six-pack was her scruffy writing. _Who's she, the cat's mother?_

Rogue, looking from one to the other of them, forgotten by them both, said "Y'know what, Ah'm just gonna leave yah alone," and beat a hasty retreat. Neither of them noticed.

Logan tdidn't bother to put his shirt back on, which inevitably made Skye stare at his chest when he spoke, since he was a good eight inches taller than she was. And a very nice chest it was, thickly muscled and darkly furred, with a happy trail running down across that very fine six-pack towards his groin. Her eyes slid helplessly downwards.

"I won't make you happy," he said abruptly. "I don't even know all my own past, and my future probably ain't too bright."

Skye smiled a little wryly, her eyes sliding up to his. "So we're a pair, then."

His dark brows raised, and after a moment he returned her smile. "You're a brave girl."

"Life's shit," she raised one shoulder in a half-shrug, "if you're lucky you survive a while?"

He actually laughed, and held out a large, squarish hand. With absolutely no sign of the brutal blades that had sprouted out of it a minute earlier. "I like you, girlie."

Skye grasped that big, warm hand, smiling properly up at him. "Prepared to give me a go?"

"You might be the only good thing that's ever happened to me." To her surprise, he lifted her hand in an old-fashioned courtesy and pressed his lips lightly to her knuckles before releasing it. "I'm game if you are."

"Got nothing much left to lose." Skye thought of Ward, the creepy stalker who kept coming back to haunt her, and her equally scary father. "I wouldn't mind having someone as dangerous as you seem to be on my side for once."

"That much I can promise." Those tawny, feral eyes bored into hers. "We might not work out as a couple. But I'll _always_ be on your side."

"I reckon that's a fair enough place to start," Skye slipped her hand into his when he offered it, and Logan picked up her bag with his free hand and led her down the hall towards the room that would be her new home.

**957 words.**

**Just as a note, the terms **_**mutants**_** and **_**mutates**_** are used in comic canon to differentiate those who are born with their powers, the **_**mutants**_**, (like the X-Men) from those who develop them through some outside mechanism, the **_**mutates**_** (Spider-Man, Hulk, the Inhumans, Captain America etc).**

**Hope you liked this! I don't think Wolverine would trust quickly or easily, and Skye, out of her element and off balance, would be quite glad that he's too wary to be pushy.**

**Please let me know what you think in the Comments!**


	25. Are You Two? (Clint & Bucky & Skye)

**Are You Two…?**

_Clint/Bucky/Skye_

WinterSkyeHawk

**So – since Bucky and Clint don't have a shared past like Bucky and Steve, I'm giving myself 3,000 words to write this chapter, 1,000 per pairing – that's Bucky/Clint, Bucky/Skye and Clint/Skye. Nice long story for you ;)**

_Clint_

He really hadn't expected _this_ when Steve recruited him to help hunt down the Winter Soldier, the shadowy assassin who probably had more kills to his name than Clint and Natasha put together. Not this lost, broken, confused man whose blue eyes looked as though they were gazing out from Hell itself.

Clint wasn't foolish enough to be unwary, though. He lowered the bow and put the arrow away, drew his sidearm and walked closer to the man lying in the alleyway. He wouldn't even be sure it _was_ Barnes if not for the very distinctive metal arm, gleaming in the dull light.

"Hey," he said quietly. "We've been looking for you. Steve sent me to help."

Those blue, blue eyes flickered up to his, and to his immense surprise a small smile cracked the bearded face. "I'm very glad _you_ found me," Barnes said in a weary voice. He reached up his human hand, clearly asking for a hand up.

Clint startled back, eyes widening. "Seriously?" he said questioningly.

"What're the odds someone else is gonna say those words to me?" In the tired smile, he could see the shadows of the very attractive man Bucky Barnes had once been, and something warm coiled in the pit of Clint's stomach. "Must say I never thought it'd be someone as good-lookin' as you, though."

"Thought you were one for the ladies," Clint finally leaned forward and gave Barnes his hand, yanking him to his feet. He was a heavy bastard, thickly muscled and that metal arm couldn't be light.

"I was. Didn't mean I didn't like guys, too."

"Huh. Me too. I got two soulmarks. You?"

"Yeah." Bucky leaned on his shoulder wearily. They were almost the same height, Bucky maybe an inch or two taller. Clint put away his gun and wrapped his arm around Bucky's back, supporting him. "Maybe we'll get lucky and our third's a girl, hmm?"

"That'd be nice." Clint glanced at Bucky's bearded jaw. "But I reckon you'll do me until we find her. I ain't kissing you until you've cleaned up a bit, though."

"Fair enough." Bucky actually grinned. "Just get me to a shower, handsome."

Clint's arm tightened around his exhausted soulmate as he helped him to the car. "Gonna take care of you, Bucky Barnes. Always."

Steve was shocked – and delighted – when Clint and Bucky appeared at the Tower clinging to each other. He quickly took in Clint's gabbled explanation and fended off Tony and Natasha, convinced Bucky to let Bruce quickly check him over for major injuries, and then let Clint take him to his apartment once Bruce cleared him.

"Can your arm get wet?" Clint asked, helping Bucky over to the shower.

"Yeah, it's fine." Bucky struggled to take his clothes off, so Clint helped.

His clothes were little more than rags, so as they removed them Clint just dumped them straight in the garbage. They were close enough in size Bucky would be able to wear his clothes. Clint stripped down to his shorts, fearing Bucky would fall in the shower, and went in with him. Bucky probably needed sleep, and food, but he was utterly rank. Clint wasn't having that smell in his apartment.

"Would you shave me?" Bucky asked, to his surprise, when Clint finally had him clean and the shower switched off.

"Let's feed you first."

"I want to kiss you, though."

"Oh…" Clint stared into those amazingly blue eyes, and then Bucky's hands, one warm flesh and one cool metal, closed gently on his arms, pulling him closer. "The shave could wait," a small smile quirked Clint's lips, and he leaned in.

It was a tender, heated kiss, and to Clint's astonishment he felt Bucky's arousal jump against his stomach. "You can't possibly be in any condition for that!"

"You wait seventy years and see how much you want it," Bucky said with an exhausted laugh, "but you're right."

Clint made him wait a couple more days, until he'd been properly fed, rested, had a thorough medical examination from Bruce, and Tony had checked over his arm for any booby traps, trackers or damage. Tony wanted to remove the arm for testing and upgrading but Clint threatened to booby trap his armour if he did and Tony reluctantly gave in. For now.

"_Now_ I'll shave you," Clint told Bucky as they headed back to his apartment. Bucky gave him a lecherous grin.

"I hope that's a euphemism for something else."

"Shave first!" Clint laughed, "something else later!"

_Bucky_

He really couldn't believe his luck. What were the odds that, at his lowest ebb, at the point where he'd really thought he might die there on the alley floor because he just didn't have the strength to get up, a handsome, muscled blond archer would detach himself from the shadows and turn out to be his _soulmate_?

Bucky lay and gazed at Clint, sleeping peacefully beside him. The archer had his own dark past, they'd talked enough over the last few days for Bucky to realise that, but he was fundamentally a good man, one who could show Bucky the way back to the light. And in this place, with old and trusted friends close by, for the first time in a very long time, Bucky felt safe. He rolled to his side, put his arm over Clint's waist, and closed his eyes.

Of course, Bucky couldn't hide in the Tower forever. Natasha came to visit a couple of days later – at least the others had the courtesy to leave him and Clint alone that long – and told him apologetically that someone called Coulson was running S.H.I.E.L.D. these days and would really very much like to talk to him about what he knew of HYDRA's plans, bases and past missions he'd been on.

"Who's this Coulson?" Bucky looked at Clint.

"Used to be, the only two people in the world I trusted were him and Nat," Clint shrugged, which did very interesting things to his shoulders and made Bucky stare. Clint caught him looking and grinned. "He faked his own death and went underground for a while, but after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell there weren't many allies he could trust, so he reached out to the Avengers. He's a good guy, Buck. You can trust him. And I'll be there with you."

"Where's _there_?"

"They have a secret base somewhere," Clint shrugged. "Coulson's gonna send someone to pick us up."

_Someone_ turned out to be an agent Clint knew, a petite Asian woman he introduced as Agent May. She came in a quinjet, invisibly landing on the roof of the Tower. She declined to let Clint sit in the front with her as they still weren't allowed to know where they were going, and looked surprised when he shrugged equably and sat down beside Bucky in the back instead, taking his hand and holding it.

"Agent May might not look like much," Clint said quietly into Bucky's ear over the low roar of the engines, "but she's as good a fighter as Natasha. They call her the Cavalry – though not to her face."

Bucky nodded in understanding, and squeezed Clint's hand, grateful for the tip. Clint had filled him in on Coulson too '_innocuous-looking, could kill you with his pinky' _and two other people he knew for sure were on the team '_Morse, bloody dangerous woman, I'm not letting her talk to you'_ and Morse's ex-husband Hunter '_former elite soldier, Brit, lethal bastard'_.

It was Hunter who met them when the quinjet landed. He and Clint greeted each other coolly. Hunter asked Clint to hand over his weapons. Clint told him to fuck off. Hunter nodded as though he'd expected nothing less, exchanged glances with May, and led Clint and Bucky inside.

"No," Clint said as he saw they were being led to some kind of interrogation room. "Not here. Coulson's office or nowhere. We're here as a gesture of goodwill, we don't have to be here."

"He's dangerous," Hunter gestured at Bucky.

"So am I," Clint responded calmly. "Start something here and you'll be lucky to have a base when Buck and I are finished with it."

Hunter and May exchanged glances again, and a soft voice came from behind Bucky's shoulder, making him whirl around defensively because he hadn't heard anyone approach. A smallish woman – a girl really, she couldn't be more than twenty-five or so – had come to stand in an open office doorway.

"Give it up, guys, Coulson predicted exactly how he'd react." She smiled up at Bucky, and he smiled back in appreciation, because she was damned pretty, with soft-looking, long dark hair, and eyes so dark they were almost black, an exotic tilt to them. "This way, please." She gestured him into the office.

Bucky blinked. _Couldn't be_. He exchanged a look with Clint, who was still facing May and Hunter, but snapped his head round in surprise at those words. He'd seen the words on Bucky's scarred back, entwined with his own.

"Certainly, ma'am," his manners won out, and he inclined his head to the girl, watching intently for her reaction. Those very dark eyes widened slightly and her lips parted. Behind him, Bucky heard Clint take a deep breath, and nudged him.

"Say somethin' to her!" Bucky hissed.

Clint appeared to have lost his voice entirely, just stared down at the girl with his eyes wide, May and Hunter forgotten.

"Cat got your tongue?" the girl arched a dark eyebrow sardonically.

"Just struck dumb by your beauty," Clint managed to get out finally.

_Skye_

No. _Way_.

Skye stared up at the two gorgeous men before her, one blond, one dark, both utterly beautiful in their own way. Two pairs of blue eyes stared back.

Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier. And Hawkeye. _My_ soulmates? That is _surely_ not possible.

"Are you two…?" a wavering finger pointed from one to the other of them.

"Yup," it was Barnes who answered, Hawkeye appearing to have swallowed his tongue again, though his eyes devoured her ravenously. "And you too, apparently."

"I think I need to sit down," Skye said a bit weakly. Four strong hands, three human and one metal, grabbed her as she sagged, and then the two of them steered her back into Coulson's office and into a chair, before the startled eyes of Phil, who was sitting behind his desk waiting for them.

"What the fuck?" Hunter barged in behind them. "Let go of her right now!"

Clint found his voice, whipping round to face down the Brit. "She's our soulmate, don't you come one step closer!" His hand dropped to the gun at his hip, Hunter mirrored him, and things might have gotten ugly if Phil hadn't spoken.

"Stand down. Hunter, May, get out. Skye, are you all right?"

"Yes," she managed to gasp out. Bucky was leaning over her, his hands on her shoulders, blue eyes gazing at her in concern. He looked just like the old photos from the war, except his hair was longer, brushing his chiselled jawline.

"Skye, is that your name?" he knelt down in front of her chair, trying to make himself seem less intimidating, putting himself at her eye level. "That's so pretty."

"Skye?" Coulson rose and came around his desk, hands spread unthreateningly, watching Clint who still seemed twitchy. "Stand _down_, Barton, I just want to make sure she's all right and then I'll leave the three of you alone to talk for a little while, if she's all right with it."

Clint's hand hovered over his gun for a moment longer, and then he folded his arms. Which did very wonderful things for his biceps, making Skye stare. Hawkeye did seem to be allergic to sleeves; he'd had his arms bare in every image she'd ever seen of him. She was very far from objecting.

"I'm fine, AC," she reassured Phil. "Just – surprised."

Phil's mouth twitched. "I can see how you might be a little shocked right now, yes. Would you like me to leave the three of you alone for a little while? I still need to talk to Barnes, but it could wait."

Clint and Bucky both looked at Skye, obviously awaiting her decision, and she felt a heady rush of power. "Yes, please," she told Phil. "I'll – we'll open the door when we're ready."

Phil gave her a grin and a wink as he left, closing the door firmly behind him, and she heard him telling May and Hunter off in the corridor for eavesdropping. Their voices faded away, though she noticed Bucky seemed to listen for longer than she did. Of course, there was the rumour that he'd been serum-enhanced, he probably had super-hearing.

"So," she stared from the still-kneeling Bucky, up at Clint. "You two. How long have _you_ been together?"

"Five days," Clint answered. "Found him half-dead in an alleyway in Pittsburgh, of all places."

"He doesn't look like he was half-dead five days ago," Skye ran her eyes over Bucky, the way he filled out his tight black T-shirt. It was certainly no hardship to look at him.

"Super-healing," Bucky said with a slightly bashful shrug. "The serum they gave me isn't as effective as Erskine's formula, but it did work pretty good."

Just another thing to process in a morning full of shocks. Skye looked up at Clint, his arms still folded. _Mmm. Biceps_. "And are you _super_, too?"

"Only as a marksman," he said with a slightly arrogant tilt of his head. Skye found herself smiling, and then Clint went down to one knee too, putting himself at her eye level, reaching for her hand.

"Are you okay with this, sugar? We – well, we certainly didn't expect to find you so soon. Buck and I are still finding our way with each other."

"Oh," Skye pulled back slightly.

"You just made her feel unwelcome, you jackass!" Bucky elbowed Clint. "Don't you think that, Skye," he told her. "What Hawkass here _meant_," he elbowed Clint again, "is that we are really glad to have found you, but we ain't gonna rush you into anything you're not ready for."

Skye looked from one to the other of them. It had been a shock, sure, but she was beginning to think that she really might just be the luckiest girl in the world. Clint was nodding sheepishly, obviously agreeing with Bucky's words, a slight flush staining his cheeks. They really were both ridiculously gorgeous. And all _hers_.

She pulled her hand from Clint's, reached up to touch his cheek. Ran the fingers of her other hand into Bucky's silky dark hair. "Maybe I wouldn't mind if you rushed me a _little_ bit." _Or a lot_.

They both leaned in towards her, glanced at each other.

"You first," Clint said, "been a long time since you kissed a girl."

"Jerk," Bucky grinned and nudged Clint again, but he leaned in anyway. His lips were pink and looked surprisingly full and soft in his hard, chiselled face. Skye leaned forward and met his mouth eagerly.

He kissed well, but gently, tentatively, as though seeking not to alarm her. Skye tightened her fingers in his hair and deepened the kiss, and Bucky responded more than enthusiastically, his arm sliding around her waist and pulling her closer. Only Clint's sharply indrawn breath stopped them.

"Fucking hell, you two are hot together," Clint's eyes were almost falling out of his head, his pupils blown right out with lust. "I could watch that all day."

"Why watch when you should be joining in?" Skye curled her hand around the back of his neck and pulled gently. He responded more than eagerly, reaching for her mouth in a kiss that was fierce with hunger right from the start and left Skye weak-kneed and wanting by the time he finally released her.

Bucky and Clint had one arm around each other, she saw, shoulders pressed together even as they both held onto her, half-pulled out of her chair and pressed in between them. Skye had never wished for the presence of a bed so much in her life, but Coulson really would kill all three of them if they started getting down and dirty in his office.

"Mine," Clint said in a voice low and ragged with need. "_Mine_." His arms tightened around them both.

"Mine," Bucky echoed.

"Mine," Skye completed their little circle, smiling at her soulmates. And then she leaned back, placed a hand on each broad chest and pushed lightly. "Now go let Coulson in. The sooner Bucky talks to him, the sooner we can go find somewhere more _comfortable_ to be alone together, hmm?"

Clint moved so fast she barely saw him go, bolting to the door and opening it, yelling for Coulson. Bucky stood, grinning, and offered Skye his hand to help her up. She took it, smiling up at him.

"Will you stay with us?" Bucky asked, and in his voice she heard not just the question of would she stay while he talked to Coulson.

"Always," she promised, leaning her head against his chest for a moment, feeling his other hand – the metal one – come up to caress her hair gently. "Just try getting rid of me!"

**2,872 words.**

**Now with smutty sequel, by popular demand! It's called Are You Two and is its own multi-chapter ficlet… click on my author profile for the easiest way to find it.**


	26. What Right Have You? (Loki & Jemma)

**What Right Have You?**

_Jemma/Loki_

BioFrost (I like it – almost Bifrost, geddit?)

_It is definitely possible to be too curious._

Her very first time meeting Jane Foster and Bruce Banner – _such_ important scientists – and Jemma's own curiosity had made her linger as the others followed them on the tour of the Tower labs. She couldn't help herself from reaching out to touch the little device that hovered, apparently unpowered, above the strange symbols etched on the lab floor.

"No!" Bruce Banner's shout was the last thing she heard before the world exploded.

Voices speaking an unknown language was the first thing Jemma heard as she regained consciousness.

"Where am I?" she croaked, trying to force her eyes open.

The voices went quiet, and then a _very_ deep voice rumbled, "You are on Asgard, my lady."

"_What?_" Jemma's eyes opened wide at that, and then she narrowed them, blinded by golden dazzle. Squinting, she made out a giant man crouching before her, wearing all golden armour. "Are you Heimdall?" she put together the pieces after a moment.

"I am. And there is one here who you have met before," he gestured, and Sif's concerned, beautiful face came into view.

"Doctor Jemma?"

"Lady Sif," Jemma managed a smile. "Oh, thank God I ended up somewhere safe." Her head lolled back and she fainted.

Sif and Heimdall exchanged glances. "Maybe not so safe as all that," Sif said wearily. "You know Odin's command; I must take her before the throne."

"_Another_ Midgardian?" Odin snapped. "This is not to be borne; they invade Asgard at will now?"

Sif put a bracing hand behind Jemma's back as she tried to back away. Jemma had recovered consciousness on the ride to the palace and started asking questions; all Sif could tell her was that Odin had ordered any intruders to Asgard brought before him, no matter the circumstances.

"The device was the one Lady Jane and Sir Bruce built for Prince Thor to return without need of the Bifrost," Sif said. "It should not have activated under the touch of a Midgardian. We must return Doctor Jemma so that Lady Jane and Sir Bruce can study what happened…"

Odin's eye glared harder. Jemma tried to shrink into the floor. That Cyclopean gaze was worse than Nick Fury's, and that was saying something.

"Loki," Odin said finally. Sif tensed as a tall figure emerged from shadows behind the throne and resolved into the Trickster God, clad in his formal green and gold court robes, a gold circlet atop his dark hair.

Jemma shivered with fright as that green gaze fell upon her. Dr Foster had explained that Thor originally thought Loki was dead, but he was masquerading as Odin while his father slept so that Thor could be with Jane on Earth. It has sounded sort of romantic and self-sacrificing. But under those glittering eyes, she doubted Loki ever had a romantic thought in his life. She felt like a particularly unusual butterfly caught in the net of an entomologist.

"This falls under your purview, since it was your magic that enabled Lady Jane and Sir Bruce to complete the device. Study the Midgardian and discover why she was able to activate it."

Loki bowed to Odin, and gestured Sif and Jemma to follow. Jemma's feet dragged; only Sif's reassuring presence enabled her to move. They followed Loki to what looked like his study or perhaps lab, though it was full of arcane instruments Jemma couldn't name.

"Leave us, Lady Sif," Loki said. Jemma looked, terrified, at her ally, but Sif obviously didn't have the authority to deny the Prince, because she bowed slightly and gave Jemma an apologetic look before backing out and closing the door behind her.

Jemma stood frozen, a rabbit in the headlights, as Loki paced around her, his boots soundless on the stone floor.

"Interesting," he purred. "Ve-ry interesting. You have no magic, and yet there is _something_ about you. I shall have to experiment."

His tone reminded her of Doctor Whitehall, and Jemma wanted to scream. Until Loki moved back around in front of her and looked down at her from those piercing green eyes. His face softened suddenly into a slight smile.

"Don't be afraid, little bird." He reached out a pale, long-fingered hand, glowing faintly green at the fingertips, and one finger touched under Jemma's chin, tipping her face up.

Jemma screamed. That _hurt_, that _really_ hurt, icy cold flooding through her body. She went up on tiptoe, trying to pull away, but she couldn't. Loki was screaming too, his skin turning a weird shade of blue, odd markings appearing. He collapsed first, his hand falling from her face as he went to his knees, and Sif burst in, sword drawn.

"Doctor Jemma! Prince Loki?" she said uncertainly, seeing Jemma still standing and Loki on his knees.

"Get _out_," Loki rasped, getting to his feet. "Now!"

The door slammed. Jemma looked up at Loki, his skin back to normal, and cringed as he reached for her again.

"It won't hurt this time," his voice was soft. His hand caressed her cheek gently. "Do you not understand?"

She shook her head numbly.

"You're my soulmate, little bird. You have no words on your body in the manner of your kind, do you?"

"No," she whispered. _Loki_? _Her_ soulmate?

A mirror appeared in mid-air, angled to show her the underside of her own chin, where his finger had touched, and a green-and-gold symbol there. "My sigil," Loki said quietly.

"What right have you to mark me?" she burst out but was silenced when he showed her the finger he'd touched her with, and her signature scrawled across it.

"Soulmate," Loki said quietly, incredulously. He'd had one brief glimpse into her mind before the bond hit and it was vast, as curious as his own. The universe had chosen well.

Somehow, Jemma was no longer afraid. Loki's green eyes were tender as he gazed at her, and as he stooped to claim her lips, her arms found their way around his neck.

**998 words.**

**Annoyingly, I like these two together. Loki would finally be able to satisfy Jemma's scientific curiosity, and she'd keep him on the straight and narrow. Plot bunnies abound!**

**Aaaannnd TA-DAH! This one now has a sequel, by the delightful Kathryn Claire O'Connor, called What Right Have You. Check it out and leave her a comment, please!**


	27. Quite The Opposite (Jemma & Wolverine)

**Quite The Opposite**

_Jemma/Wolverine_

"Uh, Director Coulson, sir? Could I possibly have a word?"

Phil looked up and saw Jemma peeping in around the open office door. He waved her in and at a chair, and knew by the way she stood and twisted her hands together diffidently that she was going to say something he wasn't going to like.

"Shoot another superior officer, Jemma?"

"Not this time, sir," a very small smile graced her lips. "But, uh…"

"Spit it out."

"I was researching the healing properties of GH-325 again and I found something," Jemma gabbled, trying to get all the words out before Phil pulled his command voice out and ordered her to shut up. "There are records of a few, a very few, people being born with healing abilities similar…"

"_Born_ with them?" Phil blinked curiously. "Naturally? Not like the Erskine serum or GH-325?"

"Yes, sir, on the Asset register. I have one name here, sir…" she put a sticky note on his desk.

Phil looked down at the words written on it.

_James Howlett, aka 'Logan'._

"Oh, _no_. There is no way _he's_ going to agree to be your lab rat. He's been through too much of that."

"You _know_ him?" Jemma's eyes popped.

"Where did you say you got his name?"

"Errr…"

The phone rang. Phil held a hand up to Jemma, gesturing for her to wait, and picked it up.

"Call your dogs off, Coulson," a voice growled in his ear.

"Not my doing, Logan, it's one of my scientists researching unusual healing abilities, she came up with your name…" Phil blinked in astonishment as Jemma snatched the phone from him.

"Do you have any _idea_ what it would mean for mankind if we could replicate this ability? Please, I don't want to treat you like a lab rat, just one blood sample…"

There was total silence at the other end of the line, and then a soft click.

Coulson wouldn't say any more, just ordered Jemma back to the lab and to forget she'd ever found out that name. She tried not to sulk.

It was late that evening, and she was alone in the lab working, when the door slammed open and a man stormed in. Big, burly, muscular, he was wearing a leather jacket over a white T-shirt and jeans. He had thick black hair and some rough-looking stubble – and a mean look on his face. Jemma backed up against her bench nervously as he came over to her.

"Who the hell _are_ you?" he demanded.

"Jemma Simmons, who the hell are _you_?" she snapped. "_You're_ the one who just stormed into a secure lab!" Her eyes widened as he shrugged out of his jacket and ripped his shirt clean off, and she was just opening her mouth to scream when he pointed at his stomach.

His very muscular, ripped stomach, with a dark happy trail running down into his jeans and a long string of words just above his belt. She leaned in to look, her eyes widening, and he turned around so that she could see that the words went all the way around to his back, almost circling his waist completely.

"You talk too much," he said gruffly.

"I babble when I'm nervous." Her eyes slid up to meet his. "James Howlett, I presume?"

"Call me Logan." His mouth quirked in a filthy grin. "That's the name I'd prefer you to be screamin' later, anyway."

Jemma folded her arms, trying to keep her eyes off his chest. "Why don't we negotiate, _Logan_? You give me that blood sample and I _might_ give you a chance to make me scream your name."

"You got yourself a deal, girlie." He held out a forearm corded with muscle. "If I'm gonna be a lab rat, might as well be yours."

She looked down at his arm, at the scars criss-crossing it, and wondered how someone with his healing ability got scars like that.

Gentle fingers touched his arm, and Logan almost forgot how to breathe for a moment. Soft brown eyes turned up to his and he saw tears in them. Tears for _him_.

"What have they done to you?" she whispered softly.

"Nuthin' I didn't survive." He couldn't resist reaching out, putting his other arm around her slim waist, pulling her towards him. "Had to survive to find you, didn't I? Been waitin' for you."

"I've been waiting for you too," she admitted shyly. _Damn_, but he liked that accent of hers. "And I'm so glad you decided to come find me after I was so rude on the phone."

"Couldn't resist," he muttered gruffly. "Wanted to see what you looked like."

Jemma looked down. "Am I a huge disappointment?"

_Who the hell had been telling his woman she wasn't beautiful? _Logan touched her face, tipping her chin up to make her look at him. "Quite the opposite. Right now I'm thinkin' I'm the luckiest bastard alive, because you are far prettier than a grizzled, scarred old bastard like me deserves." She was lovely, a flush brightening her pale cheeks, her lips soft and pink, not a scrap of makeup on her face.

"Don't you talk about my soulmate like that." Her pretty brown eyes flashed.

"Make me shut up then," Logan challenged her.

She should have been nervous, because he really was an intimidating sort of man. But he was holding her as though she was made of the most delicate fine china, and Jemma couldn't find an ounce of fear left in her. So she pulled on his neck, drawing him down to her, and kissed that extremely fine mouth with everything she had.

He smiled when she finally let go. "What say we swap that order around? I'll make you scream my name and _then_ you can take the blood sample."

"I could go for that," Jemma admitted with a shy grin, letting him pull her towards the lab door with a muscular arm around her waist.

**995 words.**

**I've got smut on the brain after writing the Smutty Sequel to Clint/Bucky/Skye. But then we all know about Jemma's weakness for muscular men…**


	28. I Don't Think It's Broken (Jemma & Sam)

**I Don't Think It's Broken**

_Jemma/Sam Wilson_

For the second time in her life, Jemma was falling out of a plane without a parachute. Only this time, she'd been pushed, and there was no Ward to come after her in a heroic rescue.

No, this time she was going to die. She shut her eyes against the sight of the ground rushing up at her appallingly fast. And then the breath was totally knocked out of her.

Dying – should hurt more than that? Jemma risked opening an eye. The ground was still moving at a dizzying rate, but it wasn't moving _up_ at her any more. She was – flying?

"Well, this is pretty fucking weird," she said.

"_What_ the fuck did you just say?" an astonished voice said behind her ear. She snapped her head up, realised she'd just headbutted someone in the nose when they let out a yelp of pain, and twisted to look.

For about half a second she'd expected to see Iron Man, or maybe War Machine, but no, it was some big black guy with _wings_. Massive, _metal_ wings. He was wearing black goggles across his eyes so she couldn't see them, and there was blood streaming from his nose.

"Fuck, I neeb do lanb," he said thickly, and the wings snapped up and back.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she squirmed, trying to get an arm free, thinking perhaps she could put some pressure on his nose.

"Thtop _wiggling_!" he shouted. It was then that Jemma realised they were still several hundred feet in the air and she was only supported by one muscular arm wrapped tightly around her chest, pinning her arms to her sides. She froze, trying to hold herself as still as possible until finally they landed with a thump and he set her on her feet, the wings snapping down and folding away into an amazingly compact pack on his back.

Jemma stumbled back, and then back towards him instinctively, reaching for his face. He wasn't crazy tall, probably close to six foot, but very broad and muscular. He fended her off with a big hand.

"Dobe duch id."

"I'm a doctor, don't be silly, I can stop the bleeding!" Well, if she had anything to stop it _with_. He gave her a sceptical look but then unzipped a pocket and held out a field bandage pack. She grabbed it, unsealed it and held it to his nose, telling him to tip his head back. He obligingly dropped to his knees so she could support his head with her other hand. Very carefully, she explored his nose.

"I don't think it's broken. Won't spoil your handsome face." Which he did have, now he'd pulled his goggles off. A very, very handsome face. He stared up at her from deep chocolate-brown eyes as she cautiously moved the bandage away.

"Do you have my words?" he asked, his voice still a little thick.

She nodded jerkily. "I – guess we got off to a bad start? Although _you_ did pretty well. Thank you for saving my life. I'm Jemma."

"Sam." He stood up, looking down at her with a smile starting to curve his firm mouth. Even with drying blood smearing his face, he was _awfully_ attractive. Jemma gulped. "Sam Wilson. Also known as the Falcon."

"Oh," she added the pieces together and came up with Captain America's buddy. "_My_ soulmate is a _superhero_?"

The smile broadened. "I ain't one to blow my own trumpet. But I do like the sound of that when _you_ say it. I reckon I don't mind so much that my soulmate tried to smash my face in, now I find she's as pretty as you. Always did like Jane Austen dramas, and you look and sound like you just stepped right out of one. Apart from the lack of corsets, obviously."

Jemma blushed and laughed shyly, and one big hand in a fingerless leather glove reached up and cupped her cheek gently.

"I'm sure I'm a mess so I'm not gonna try and kiss you right now," Sam said, staring down at the beautiful woman he'd just saved from an extremely messy death. "But later on when I've cleaned up I really hope that you'll show your gratitude by playin' swooning heroine to my dashing hero."

Jemma smiled. "I'll give it a try." She looked down, then shyly back up at him through her lashes. "You've certainly got the dashing hero part nailed down."

Sam felt about ten feet tall as she slipped her small hand into his and they started walking across the field he'd landed them in towards some buildings in the distance.

It turned out to be a small town with a single small motel, and only one room available for rent. And about five hours until someone could come pick them up. Sam shrugged, rented the room and said "Hey, at least I can wash up."

Jemma blushed scalding red when she saw the one, large bed in the room. Sam rolled his eyes and told her "I ain't gonna ravish you."

As he walked into the bathroom to wash his face, he thought he heard her murmur;

"Pity."

_Did I really hear that?_

He washed up quickly and hurried back into the bedroom. She was sitting on the bed, shoes and jacket removed. Sam couldn't stop watching her as he stripped off his wingpack and combat vest. _Damn_, but she was pretty. He was a lucky man. And then Jemma turned to look at him with a surprisingly mischievous grin, lifted the back of her hand to her forehead, and said;

"Oh… I believe I may swoon," and sagged backwards dramatically onto the pillows.

That was practically an engraved invitation as far as Sam was concerned. He took two giant strides and stooped over her. "Tempting little witch," he muttered.

"Come here and claim your reward, dashing hero." She smiled up at him.

"I don't need asking twice." His arms closed around her eagerly.

**996 words.**

**You little minx, Jemma!**

**Having said that, I'd totally fake-swoon to get Sam to kiss me, as well. Who wouldn't?**


	29. The Gambler (Jemma & Gambit)

**The Gambler**

_Jemma/Gambit_

**_With apologies to Kenny Rogers._**

"It's your birthday and we are _going out_." Skye actually had a grip on Jemma's hair, marching her out of the lab and off to her room.

"All right, all right!"

"So put on a nice dress and let's go."

Jemma only _had_ one good dress, a strappy, red number she'd bought on a whim and never worn. She put it on reluctantly.

"Stop trying to pull it up over your boobs, you look sexy as hell," Skye told her as they drove to the bar.

"Give over, no one's going to look twice at me with you and Bobbi along," Jemma shook her head, but Skye was insistent.

"You're beautiful, Jemma. Someday the right guy is gonna come along and make you believe it."

The bar wasn't far away. It wasn't her first visit with the team, but it was the first time Jemma had been there in a dress, and she was surprised by the appreciative looks she got. Not that she was interested. It wasn't like she was going to meet her soulmate in a place like _this_, was it?

Skye seemed determined to get her drunk, and in the end Jemma gave in and did a few tequila shots, feeling pleasantly buzzed afterwards.

"There's a hot guy at the bar, keeps staring at you," Skye nudged her. "Told you that dress was a good idea."

"I'm sure he's not," but Jemma couldn't help but look. She'd seen the guy Skye was talking about, he was unmissable. Longish brown hair, he was wearing a black leather coat over a grey T-shirt and a hat that shaded his eyes but in no way hid that he was extremely good-looking. And he _was_ watching her, idly shuffling a pack of cards in his hands. He smiled as she looked at him. She looked away, blushing.

"More tequila," Skye decided.

Several drinks later, the karaoke started. They discovered that there was in fact something Melinda May couldn't do as she totally butchered _Total Eclipse Of The Heart_, and then Bobbi and Lance sang _Summer Lovin'_ to each other and disappeared together afterwards.

"Oh no, not you," Jemma said as Fitz picked up the microphone. "You sing like a bullfrog."

Fitz grinned and poked her. "You do it then."

"Oh, all right," she chose a song. "My dad used to put this one on in the car."

"She can really sing," Fitz nudged Skye. "Watch this."

They watched as Jemma picked up the microphone and stepped up on the little stage, a touch unsteady in the black strappy heels Skye had coaxed her into. And then the music started and she began to sing, a low, sultry voice that made every man in the bar snap to attention.

"On a warm summer's eve, on a train bound for nowhere, I met up with the gambler, we were both too tired to sleep…"

From the corner of her eye, Jemma saw the hot guy at the bar suddenly jerk upright and jump to his feet. And then he was walking towards the stage slowly, staring at her.

_What the hell, he's gorgeous. And I'm drunk_. As he reached the stage, she sauntered over, deliberately swinging her hips, leaned over and put her free hand on his cheek, and sang the chorus directly to him.

"You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run…"

Skye whooped. "You _go_, girl!"

Jemma looked over at Skye, trying not to laugh as she sang. Hot Guy backed away, but he didn't stop staring at her.

At the end of the song, she curtseyed to the raucous applause and handed the microphone to a laughing Skye, insisting it was her turn. Hot and sweating, Jemma headed for the door, thinking she'd take a breather for a moment.

She ran right into Hot Guy outside. He caught her elbow as she stumbled, and little prickles of heat ran up her arm from his touch. He'd removed the hat and his coat, and he was even sexier now she could see his whole face.

"You have a lovely voice, _chère_," he said in a thick Cajun accent.

Those words were like a dash of cold water in the face for Jemma. They'd been scrawled on her inner thigh since the day of her birth. "What?" she gasped.

"Took me a while to figure out the words were from a song." He held out his arm, and she made out the words printed neatly on the inside of his forearm, visible now he'd taken his coat off. "Been looking for a girl who'd sing them to me for even longer. I'm Remy. Remy LeBeau."

"Well it's certainly an apt surname," Jemma couldn't help but say. "Handsome."

"So what's your name, _chère_?" he lifted her hand to his lips, gazing down at her. "Since it seems you're my soulmate and all."

"Jemma. Simmons."

Remy drew a little closer to her, her hand still held in his, and then his free arm slid around her waist.

There was something _really_ strange about his eyes. Jemma frowned, her drunken brain trying to figure out what it was, and then Remy whirled her around suddenly, bringing her hand to the back of his neck.

"I got secrets, _chère,_ dangerous secrets," he whispered in her ear, his low, husky voice making her shiver with sudden want.

"So do I," she gasped back. "Maybe – maybe that's why I'm meant to be yours."

"I surely do like the sound of that. _Mine_." He nibbled at her ear, and she almost melted. "I'll find you soon," he whispered, and suddenly he was gone, as Skye and Fitz spilled out of the bar, calling her name. For an instant Jemma saw him in the distance, a shadowy figure, his hat over his eyes again. And then he was gone.

"What's this?" Skye held something out to her. It was a playing card.

The Queen of Hearts.

**1,000 words precisely and holy shit this one's going to need a sequel, isn't it? I'd forgotten how hot Taylor Kitsch is, actually. Lucky, lucky Jemma.**


	30. I Have Plans For You (Skye & Sam Wilson)

**I Have Plans For You**

_Skye/Sam Wilson_

Captain America's I-Am-Disappointed-In-You face was brutal. Skye found herself wincing in sympathy with Phil, who'd just had to explain to that face exactly why he'd let the Avengers go on thinking he was dead. Even the broad-shouldered black dude who'd arrived with Rogers was looking sympathetic.

"Be that as it may," Rogers said eventually, "we're here to ask for your assistance." The look he gave Phil quite clearly said _Which you OWE me_. "We've discovered that HYDRA's Asset – the Winter Soldier – is actually Bucky Barnes. And we're looking for him. Tony figured that you'd hacked some HYDRA databases somehow, but you've upgraded your computer security and he couldn't get in. I need to know if you have any information on the Winter Soldier."

_Tony Stark can't crack my security_. Skye felt a smug smile trying to curve her lips, even as the shock over hearing that Bucky Barnes was the Winter Soldier spread through the room.

"Well, Skye's our computer expert," Phil gestured in her direction. "She created the worm we used to get into the HYDRA databases…"

"Wait," Captain America's buddy said. "Did you say _Skye_?" He turned to look at her, raking an intense gaze over her from head to foot.

"Yes, my name's Skye," she said irritably. "So?"

"Damn, I really can't be this lucky," he responded, and cocked an eyebrow at her. Waiting.

Skye's mouth fell open.

"Oh my God, aren't those your…?" Jemma began.

"Out!" May snapped. "Out, now, everyone – yes, you too, Captain Rogers, haven't you ever heard how when soulmates meet the polite thing to do is leave them the hell alone?"

"_Soulmates_?" Skye heard Rogers say in astonishment. "Sam and _her_?"

The door clicked shut, and she stared up into dark brown eyes. "Sam?" she said weakly after a moment, when he seemed content to just stare at her.

"Sam Wilson," he responded, seeming to remember his manners, holding out a big hand that engulfed hers totally when she took it. "Uh – some people call me the Falcon."

"Really!" her eyebrows shot up. "You're the one with the wings?" She'd seen footage of him, shaky cell-phone capture stuff, but he was always wearing black goggles that covered his eyes and prevented him from being recognised.

"That's me. Your name is right between my shoulder blades." Sam was still staring down at her, his expression wondering. "You're so beautiful," he said honestly.

Skye blushed, and then she realised there was something important she should tell him. "I have a creepy sort of ex-boyfriend stalker who likes to hurt and kill people I care about."

"I see. Well, no-one's perfect." He shrugged, like the thought of Ward didn't faze him in the slightest, saw her astonished expression and grinned. "I'm an Avenger. My closest friends are Captain America and the Black Widow. Unless your creepy ex is Loki himself, I ain't worried."

A little smile came back to Skye's face, and, seeing it, Sam took the opportunity to tug gently on the small hand he still held, pulling her closer to him. "Now, my beautiful lady, Rogers and I really do need to get back to hunting for Barnes, so I should go fetch him so you can work your computer magic and make it happen."

Skye nodded reluctantly. "Okay. I'm sure I can help…"

"Not _just_ yet." His other hand came up, caressed her cheek lightly. "Barnes has been missing for seventy years. Steve can wait another five minutes while I find out just how good that pretty mouth of yours tastes." His hand curled around the back of her neck gently, drawing her closer, though he waited for her to give him some sort of signal. She might be his soulmate but Sam wasn't about to force himself on her, lovely though she was. He'd seen too many soulmates fuck up by assuming, or demanding, too much at the first meeting.

Skye, however, was far from unwilling. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she went up on tiptoe, reaching for his mouth, even as her free hand settled lightly on his chest. Her touch almost burned through the thin T-shirt he was wearing, and Sam took a deep breath and a tight grip on his libido before he brought his mouth gently down on hers.

They broke apart several minutes later, smiling shyly at each other. Skye's hands were both on Sam's chest where she'd been enjoying investigating the thick layers of muscle there, while one of his was on her ass, cupping her against him, the other at the back of her neck holding her head still as he gently explored her mouth.

"I am luckier than I ever had any right to expect," Sam sighed, holding Skye close.

"You and me both," she murmured against his chest, hugging onto him for a moment before stepping back. "Now go and fetch Captain America so we can find his long-lost buddy. I have _plans_ for you when we're done, Falcon."

"I like the sound of that." Sam had to adjust himself as he walked to the door. "I like the sound of that a _lot_."

**852 words.**

**D'AWWW. Dey so cute.**

**Sam'll deal with Ward for you, Skye. Dropping from a great height sounds like a perfectly fantastic idea.**


	31. No Complaints Here (Clint&Bucky&Jemma)

**No Complaints Here**

_Clint/Bucky/Jemma_

Another triad, but I'm gonna try for this one in 2,000 words… this one needs a little bit of setup, though…

_Phil_

"Coulson, I need help."

Phil blinked repeatedly. He suspected it was the first time Natasha Romanoff had ever used the 'H' word in her life, at least asking for it.

"Clint's injured and we're stranded. Do you have a medic?"

"Yes. Give me your location," Phil sighed. Whatever he thought about how exactly Natasha had found this number – and why she didn't sound surprised that he was alive – Clint Barton more than deserved whatever help he could offer.

Less than an hour later, the Bus landed in an isolated spot in North Carolina, a few miles from the nearest town. There was a vehicle there, badly smashed up. And there were three figures beside it, two prone and one standing, red hair spilling around her shoulders.

"Agent Romanoff," Phil was first to her, and to his astonishment she actually drew him into a hug. "_Natasha_. What's going on?" Jemma was rushing past him, crouching over the two prone bodies, one of whom he could clearly see was Barton.

Natasha actually seemed to be holding back tears. "We'd been looking for _him_," she pointed at the second body. "Clint managed to take his arm offline with an EMP arrow, but it reset, and he knocked Clint unconscious, and – it took me _ages_ to take him down and in the end I actually stuck him with one of Clint's Hulk arrows…"

Phil's eyes widened as he realised the other body was the Winter Soldier. He knew who the Soldier was and that Rogers and Romanoff had gone looking for him. "You found him."

"Yes, and he wasn't exactly happy to see us…" Natasha gestured at the trashed car.

Jemma looked up. "I need to get them onto the Bus."

"_No_," Phil and Natasha said in unison.

"We can't take _him_ on the Bus. Can't risk it." Phil gestured at the Soldier. "And we can't leave him. We'll set up whatever you need here, Jemma, but you treat them _here_."

She sighed and nodded. "Yes, sir. In that case…" she turned to Fitz and started dictating a list of what she'd need.

_Jemma_

How she was supposed to do this in a field, she couldn't imagine. She triaged quickly, kneeling between the two men. The Winter Soldier appeared uninjured, apart from an arrow stuck in his mechanical arm – which was Fitz's problem, not hers – and another arrow lodged shallowly in his calf. It wasn't bleeding, and he appeared to be in no distress, just breathing shallowly, deeply asleep. He could wait.

She turned to Agent Barton, a boneless sprawl in the grass. Romanoff had rolled him onto his side, into the recovery position, but there was a lump on the side of his head she could see, sluggishly oozing blood. Right, him first then. First, get him comfortable while Fitz and May fetched her supplies. She struggled with the buckles and straps securing the quiver on his back. She needed to get that off before she could roll him to check for other injuries.

After a moment another pair of hands came in to help, and she glanced up to see Agent Romanoff kneeling on the other side of Barton's body. "Thank you."

"Should have done it already, but I was so worried about him," Natasha muttered. She looked to be holding back tears.

There were a lot of rumours about Barton and Romanoff within S.H.I.E.L.D., and many of those said they were lovers. Jemma couldn't resist asking. "Are you and him…?"

"Me and him what? Oh! No," Natasha actually smiled. Glanced at Barnes. "No, we're not." Her smile was so odd, Jemma again couldn't resist a question.

"Why do you look at the two of them like you know something no one else does?"

Natasha looked at the pretty young doctor kneeling in the field. Thought about the words she knew were on the bodies of the two men. "Because I do. They're soulmates, and they share a third."

"What?" Jemma blinked in astonishment. "Do _they_ know?"

"Clint does. I've seen their marks, and I know both their handwriting. Clint said his words to Barnes earlier – _don't do this, I don't want to hurt you_ – and Barnes didn't react. He's been very heavily programmed."

"Oh, the poor man. How tragic," Jemma leaned in towards Barnes, stroked his dark hair back from his face. "You poor darling, I'm going to help you get better," she said. She looked back up at Natasha, who had to call on every bit of her years of training to hide a massive smirk. "We can help him. We have a memory-recovery machine. We'll get him better for Agent Barton."

"And their third." Natasha worked very hard on suppressing the smirk.

"It's not you…?"

"Definitely _not_."

Agent Barton stirred at that moment, letting out a moan, and Jemma turned back to him instantly.

"Don't try to move. You've been hit on the head, I'm a doctor, I'm taking care of you."

He opened striking blue-green eyes, unfocussed for a moment, then sharpening on her face. "Oh," he said vaguely. "You're an angel."

Agent Romanoff actually started laughing. Indeed, she laughed so hard she fell over backwards, shaking. "You cheesy idiot, Clint!" she choked out eventually.

Barton smiled, still staring vaguely at Jemma, who was gazing back at him, open-mouthed with shock. "What else was I supposed to say, Tash? She's so beautiful."

_Oh my God. Agent Barton is one of my soulmates. Which means the other is…_ Jemma looked at the Winter Soldier. "I think I'm about to do something very embarrassing," she said weakly, and fainted right on top of Agent Barton.

_Clint_

Today was turning out to be even more surprising than he'd expected. He'd known ever since Tasha told him the Winter Soldier was one of his soulmates that their meeting wouldn't be easy; even more so once they found out that the Soldier was actually Bucky Barnes. And he'd known for twenty-seven years that his other soulmate would be treating him for a head injury. But he'd never expected _this_ to happen. Not to meet both of them within an hour of each other, and then to have this lovely young woman faint into his arms with the shock.

He caught her, of course, though his head was thumping and he was pretty sure he was concussed. He was seeing at least two and a half of everything, never a good sign.

"What's her name?" he asked Natasha, who was still laughing at him, but came to help him.

"Coulson called her Jemma."

"Pretty name," he arranged Jemma in his arms, her head on his shoulder. "_She's_ pretty. Damn, I'm lucky," he glanced at the still-unconscious Barnes. "They're both gorgeous."

"Yes, well, now we just have to figure out a way to keep him from killing both of you," Natasha said dryly.

"I'm sure you'll think of something." He gave her a beatific smile.

_Phil_

He honestly thought Natasha was pulling his leg when she told him. But then there was the evidence of Jemma lying unconscious in Clint's arms, Clint staring at her adoringly – and a bit cross-eyed – and Natasha pulled up Clint's pants leg to show Phil the words in Jemma's neat script on his calf.

"Those two and _him_," he gestured at Barnes. "What do we do about him?"

"Jemma said something about a memory machine?"

Jemma came round a few minutes later – after some determined cheek-patting by Skye and Barton – and they decided to load them all on the Bus and take them back to Headquarters and stick Barnes straight in the memory machine. The sooner they broke his programming, the better. He'd been so heavily wiped he didn't even recognise Natasha. She volunteered to sit beside him in the Bus, in the holding room, holding another of Clint's Hulk-stopper arrows ready to stick into him if he so much as twitched.

Fitz came in to study the metal arm in complete fascination, removing Clint's EMP arrow – which had only worked for about three minutes before the arm reset.

"Amazing bit of tech," the young engineer said. "I think I could disable it temporarily by disconnecting a few things…"

"Do it," Natasha said without a qualm. From what Coulson had told her, the last thing they needed was to be trying to restrain Barnes in that memory machine with his arm operational.

_Bucky_

It hurt. _Oh God it hurt_, he'd never known such pain, not even in that awful lab in Bavaria, nor when he fell from the train, lost his arm…

… and then the pain was over and he was staring up at two faces, one a lovely young woman, tears streaking her cheeks, the other a handsome blond man a few years older, a muscular arm tight around the woman's waist, holding her close.

"Don't cry," Bucky told her, "you're too beautiful to cry."

She only sobbed harder, turning her face into the blond man's chest. He smiled crookedly at Bucky.

"What's so funny?"

The blond leaned forward, turning his head. Showing Bucky the skin just behind his ear where three small words were written. _What's so funny?_

"Oh," he blinked in astonishment. "You?"

"That's right." He had a low, steady voice. "_Us_, actually. My name's Clint, and this is Jemma."

"I'm Bucky. But I'm thinkin' you know that already?" He remembered trying to kill Clint. It was the last thing he _did_ remember. He was very sure he'd never seen Jemma before, though. He couldn't have forgotten a face like that.

"Yes. But it's really good to meet you anyway." Strong hands unfastened the straps that Bucky suddenly realised were holding him down to a steel table, did something to his prosthetic arm which made it move again.

"How do you feel, Bucky?" Jemma asked softly, leaning in to look in his eyes.

He sat up slowly. "Really fucking pissed off." She shrank back, and he reached out to her with a smile, not grabbing, just touching her fingers with his. "Not with you. Never with you. With those HYDRA bastards." He took Clint in, the military stance, the weapons. "Gonna help me kick some ass?"

"It will be my genuine pleasure." Clint looked at Jemma. "Later. Our soulmate would like to fuss over you some first, I think."

"I'm good with that." He picked up Jemma's hand, brought it to his lips. She blushed a little shyly but smiled. He looked at Clint, who was watching them, trying and failing to keep an envious expression off his face. "You too. Get over here, handsome."

Clint approached slowly. "I was kinda hoping you'd say that. Steve only tells stories of you with girls…"

"Didn't want to shock him," Bucky grinned, eyes alight. "Wasn't exactly accepted in those days, even between soulmates. And I didn't have marks back then."

"And I thought you'd be a handsome older man," Clint sighed. "No silver fox for us, Jemma."

"You're _complaining_?" she gave him an incredulous look, gesturing at Bucky.

"Oh hell no." He put a hand to Bucky's unshaven jaw, giving him a heated look. "Not at all."

"Me neither," Bucky smiled appreciatively at both of them. "No complaints here."

"Good." Jemma hitched a hip onto the exam table, almost sitting in Bucky's lap – which made his body suddenly perk up and take notice. "Because you two are both gorgeous and I feel quite inadequate."

"Don't you dare," Clint ran his free hand into her hair, tipped her cheek up so she looked him in the eyes. "What do you think, Bucky? Isn't Jemma beautiful?"

"Pretty as a picture," he brought her hand back to his lips again, lingering over kissing it. "I think we're real lucky to have such a beautiful dame just for us, Clint. Reckon you can help me make her realise how lovely she is?"

"Reckon I can give it my best shot," Clint said, smiling at the way Bucky and Jemma were looking at each other. "And I _never_ miss."

**1997 words.**

**I'm still looking for writers, or aspiring writers, to help me continue some of these. A few (Jemma/Bucky, Jemma/Gambit, and Skye/Bucky/Clint in particular) I want to continue myself, but if you have an idea to continue one of the others, please get in touch, I am NEVER going to have time to write them all, and part of the point of this is to create some new pairings other than the usual boring ones out there!**


	32. The Engineering Bros (Fitz & Tony)

**The Engineering Bros.**

_Fitz/Tony Stark_

They're just the Engineering Bros. No ship name required. And this is the first Platonic one on the Poll, it got 25 votes which I actually thought was pretty impressive!

The setup: Platonic bonds are quite rare, and they appear in the exact same way as romantic ones, but the words are in a different colour, a metallic silver (as opposed to a dead soulbond, which is faded grey).

This is a sequel to _I Don't Think It's Broken_, the Jemma/Sam Soulmate Short, and can be considered as pretty much following on directly afterwards.

Fitz honestly thought he might cry when Jemma came floating back into the base as though she had wings on her feet, babbling about her soulmate. A _superhero_. One of the _Avengers_ – well, not one of the _original_ Avengers, but he was on the team now, that was more than enough to make Fitz feel useless and pathetic in comparison. And to make things even worse, Sam Wilson was so damn _nice_ it made Fitz's teeth hurt.

"Jemma told me about you," the Falcon told him, shaking his hand with a broad smile, one which seemed permanently etched on his face when he was talking about or looking at Jemma. "You must come up to New York with her next weekend. Please. You're like family to Jemma, and I'd love you to meet the team. You'll get on like a house on fire with Tony."

Fitz had heard too many stories about Tony Stark being an arrogant, obnoxious bastard to believe that. He might want to _set_ Tony's house on fire, though. But because Jemma was looking at him with her eyes shining and her smile hopeful, he nodded.

_Why do I keep on setting myself up for more pain?_

Jemma wasn't his soulmate, no. But then his parents weren't soulmates and they adored each other: both of them had met their soulmates when young and it hadn't worked out. Fitz had hoped, from the time when he realised that he and Jemma worked so well together – well, it didn't matter what he'd hoped. He could very clearly see that in the way that Jemma and Sam were looking at each other, stealing touches and kisses when they thought no one was looking.

So Fitz took the train up to New York with Jemma, and they walked from Grand Central Station to Avengers Tower because it was all of three blocks, and no sooner had they entered the lobby than Sam was there, sweeping Jemma off her feet in a very dramatic kiss.

"I'll, uh, leave you two alone," Fitz beat a hasty retreat into the elevator.

"Doctor Leopold Fitz?" an urbane voice said.

"Please just call me Fitz," he responded instantly.

"Yes, Dr Fitz. I am JARVIS, the Tower AI. Mr Wilson informed me that you would be interested in meeting Sir – Mr Stark, that is. Would you like to go to the labs now?"

"What the hell, I might as well get it over with. Yes, all right." Fitz slumped back against the wall of the elevator and picked at his nails. Who knew, maybe if he pissed Stark off enough he might get booted out and banned from the Tower and not have to watch Jemma and Sam all the time.

JARVIS didn't speak again. Fantastic, he'd probably annoyed the AI by not sounding exactly enthused about meeting Stark. The elevator doors soon slid open on – the most amazing lab Fitz had ever seen.

"Oh," he couldn't help a low sigh filled with envy as he looked around. And then he saw Tony Stark in the middle of the lab, trying on what appeared to be some new arm pieces. Stark looked up, saw him and gave one of his trademark manic grins.

"Well don't just stand there! Come and help me with this."

"What do you need me to do?" Fitz's feet, and his mouth, were already moving when he registered the words.

_No. That can't possibly be_. His hand came up to rub at the silvery soulmark on the back of his neck. He had two soulmarks, one the black of a romantic mark and the other a silvery platonic bond. A platonic bond sounded wonderful to Fitz, someone who wouldn't expect anything more of him than his friendship.

But… _Tony Stark?_

"Really?" Tony took in the astonished look on the young engineer's face. He knew who the kid was, of course. JARVIS had given him a rundown on both Sam's soulmate and her engineer buddy. "Fucking awesome, an engineering bro!" the kid was apparently a brilliant engineer, creative on a par with Tony himself. Tony couldn't have been happier. His life was complete; Pepper and now young Fitz.

Fitz looked a bit shell-shocked, so Tony stripped off the new arm pieces and strode forward to give the younger man a hug. They were even about the same height. "It is fucking awesome to meet you, Leo Fitz," he said warmly, and was horrified when Fitz's eyes filled with tears. "Oh my God, no, no, JARVIS get Pepper right the fuck now!"

Pepper was just as delighted to meet him as Tony had been, and just as horrified by his misery. Somehow Fitz found himself seated on a couch in Tony's penthouse with both Tony and Pepper hugging him while he poured out his heartbreak over Jemma.

"He doesn't understand," Tony poured himself a whisky, leaning on the bar, looking at the kid asleep on his couch.

"Because he hasn't found his soulmate." Pepper came to him, slipped her arms around his waist and leaned her chin on his shoulder. They'd eventually convinced Fitz to show them the black writing on his foot, a rather generic _Hello, it's nice to meet you_.

"I'm not having my Engineering Bro miserable. It's not Simmons' fault, but we gotta fix this. We gotta find his girl, Pepper!"

Pepper smiled fondly as Tony went to fetch a blanket and covered Fitz over with it gently.

She didn't trust Tony to take care of a pot plant, never mind a vulnerable young man with a broken heart.

_She'd_ find Fitz's soulmate for him.

**933 words.**

**While I don't and never will ship FitzSimmons (best friends do NOT transition into good lovers, I learned from experience) I **_**am**_** sympathetic to Fitz's heartbreak. And I think Tony, despite his impossible Tony-ness, would be absolutely devastated for him, and Pepper would definitely adopt Fitz as her baby brother too. (Especially because of the pot plant problem, lol).**

**So obviously there's going to be a Part 3 to this little sequence, where Tony and Pepper do indeed find Fitz's soulmate. I already worked out who it's going to be, but it's not due to be written quite yet, so hang in there…**


	33. Bad Moon Rising (Skye & Peter Quill)

**Bad Moon Rising**

**(subtitle: Guardian Agents of Glee)**

_Skye/Peter Quill (Star-Lord)_

**SkyeLord**

**I have no idea how this turned into an episode of **_**Glee**_**. But since I apparently can't write Peter without music, here you go.**

**The songs featured are, in order;**

_**Magic Carpet Ride**_** by Steppenwolf**

_**One Way Or Another**_** by Blondie (NOT the One Direction version, Serena!)**

_**Don't Stop Believin'**_** by Journey (or, yes, the Rachel/Finn duet from Glee, if you want to imagine how Skye and Peter would sound singing it)**

_**Bad Moon Rising**_** by Creedence Clearwater Revival, which HAD to be involved because of the line about earthquakes, which is why it became the title of the fic.**

**In my headcanon, all these songs are on Peter's Amazing Mixtape Volume 2, and yes, they all do fit era-wise. For extra bonus entertainment, put them on to play in the background while you read…**

"I hate Kree," a deep voice announced almost conversationally. "Arrogant bastards."

There was music playing in the background. It took a moment for Skye to process and recognise the song as Steppenwolf's _Magic Carpet Ride_. It seemed oddly appropriate for what she'd been through over the last day. At least she probably wasn't in the temple any more, not with that music.

"Improving the human race my ass," the voice continued.

"Do you always talk to yourself?" Skye finally managed to get her eyes open and looked up to find – _oh_ – an extremely good-looking guy sitting beside her. He had his feet propped on some sort of console and an unfamiliar-looking electronic device in his hands.

"Aaargh!" He flailed, the device dropped and he caught it before it hit the floor in an impressive display of superb reflexes. Skye took a moment to study him. He had short curly reddish hair, a dark red leather coat that did very nice things for impressive shoulders, and dark green eyes. Skye smiled at his obvious confusion as he stared at her.

"Wow, really, you?" he grinned, then. "How unexpected."

"What?" she blinked in confusion.

"Oh – you were probably unconscious, weren't you?" he obviously thought for a moment. "Are your soulmate words _I'll look after you, beautiful, don't worry about a thing?_"

"Aaargh!" it was Skye's turn to flail with shock.

"I'm Peter, by the way." He pushed up the sleeve of his coat to reveal her handwriting on a corded forearm. _Do you always talk to yourself?_ "And yeah – I kind of do. Sometimes I sing to myself." He grinned as the song playing in the background changed, and started humming along after a moment.

"One way, or another, I'm gonna find ya, I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha…"

Skye found herself smiling again. "I don't know this version. It's not One Direction."

"Who are One Direction?" he cocked his head quizzically.

"Seriously, where have you been living, under a rock?" Skye's eyebrows flew up. "Even Coulson knows who One Direction are!"

"Ah. Well, about that." Peter looked uncomfortable.

"Coulson, oh my God, he's not dead, is he?" she panicked at the look on his face.

"NO! No, he's fine, all your friends are fine. It's just, you're, well _we're_, not on Earth right now. It's not safe for you. I don't live there." He reached out a large hand and placed it gently over hers. "Rocket picked up a reading we didn't like and we were in the neighbourhood, so we came to check it out, and found you… I talked to your Agent Coulson and he agreed that you'd best come with us for a bit. _Skye_. He told me to call you that and to say that he understood why you couldn't pull the trigger."

There was far too much about that statement that Skye absolutely could not deal with. She just sat and stared at Peter, feeling his warm hand press down gently on hers, seeing sympathy in those dark green eyes.

"Where am I?" she whispered numbly after a few moments.

"My ship." He gave her a small smile. "Spaceship, that is. We're in a distant orbit, pretending to be an asteroid, far enough from Earth that you can't do any damage."

She had to take deep breaths, bring her knees up and put her head between them. She felt Peter move to sit beside her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders in a warm, comforting hug. "It's all right," he whispered gently. "It's all gonna be fine, Skye. I gotcha."

She couldn't help but lean into him, feeling his other hand come up to caress her hair.

The song changed again, and Peter started singing along quietly, holding her close, trying to comfort her, reassure her with his touch that she'd never be alone again.

"Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world, she took the midnight train going anywhere…"

He was surprised that Skye apparently knew the song. It had to be older than she was. But she lifted her voice and sang the next line.

"Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit, he took the midnight train going anywhere."

They were well into the chorus when the door opened and Rocket looked in. "Now there's _two_ of you making that awful racket?"

Skye screamed and tried to hide against Peter's chest. Which was an extremely nice feeling, but he still glared at Rocket. "I _told_ you not to come in, she's not ready for you lot, she's never seen an alien before!"

"You'd better show me the rest," Skye said about ten minutes later, when she'd got over meeting the obnoxious talking raccoon.

Peter sighed, getting to his feet and offering his hand to help her up. "Get all the shocks over with at once, huh?"

"That's the plan." Skye looked up at him and gave him a small smile. "But you'd better hold onto me in case I faint." There was a teasing glint in her eyes, he was glad to see. She was resilient.

Which was good. She'd need to be.

"I can certainly do that." He put an arm around her waist, holding her close. "No one will hurt you, Skye. You're in no danger on my ship, I promise."

His reassuring words got her through meeting Gamora and Drax – and baby Groot. It was when they got to the ship's cockpit and she stared out through the viewscreen that everything hit her.

Earth rotated slowly before her stunned eyes, a blue-and-white ball, beautiful beyond imagining, and so very, very far away. She turned to look up at Peter, tears forming in her eyes. Seeing her expression, he hugged her closer, looking down at the planet of their birth with sorrow on his own face.

Another song played in the background.

_I see the bad moon rising, I see trouble on the way. I see earthquakes and lightnin', I see bad times today._

**996 words.**

**For more **_**Glee**_** meets **_**Soulmate Shorts**_**, Peter/Jemma is currently 4****th**** on my list to write, so there'll be some more fantastically cheesy 70's/80's hair band music in a few days…**

**And AWESOME news: the first continuation to one of these by another author is up! Huge thanks to Lady Winterlight for taking on Steve/Bucky/Skye, and she's doing an AWESOME job with it.**

**Here's the story **** s/10914483/1/I-m-So-Scared-Please-Help-Me**

**and should any authors feel inspired to carry on another of these stories, please get in touch - it's one author per short and MOST of them are still available!**


	34. We Finally Found You (Clint&Nat&Jemma)

**We Finally Found You**

_Clint/Natasha/Jemma_

Gonna go for this one in 1500 words, 500 per person…

**Theme songs: **

**U2 - With Or Without You**

**U2 – I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For**

_Clint and Natasha_

"I hate you."

"I fucking hate you too."

They glared at each other, quivering with rage, for several silent minutes. It was Natasha who looked away first, wearily. "Why do we keep doing this to each other, Clint?"

He didn't say it, knowing she'd probably shoot him if he did. Just waited, silently, until the tension drained from her body and she turned around, stalking across the room to him, fisting both hands in the front of his T-shirt.

"I can't do this. I can't _keep_ doing this," the words burst from her. "It's like that stupid song…"

He knew which song she was talking about, of course. _With Or Without You_. They'd adopted it as their theme song several years ago. He couldn't live without her – but at the same time he couldn't live with her. She drove him insane. And she felt exactly the same way.

"Where are you?" he whispered into the darkness late that night. Alone in his bed, because Natasha had left. Again. "We _need_ you. What's taking you so long?"

"_Just kill me. Make it quick_." She'd said it in Budapest, lying in an alleyway, already punctured by bullet and knife wounds. He'd had an arrow pointed at her heart, and from fifteen feet there was no way she could move fast enough to make him miss.

He'd almost fallen with shock. "That sounds like something I'd always regret," he said slowly, and knew she was the right one when her beautiful mouth dropped open with shock.

Fury had been enraged when he brought the infamous Black Widow in instead of killing her, but there were policies regarding soulmates that had forced Fury's hand. He gave Natasha a chance – and a warning, that if she stepped out of line it would be her soulmate who paid the price. She never had, despite how crazy Clint made her sometimes, because she'd found a place in S.H.I.E.L.D. that had nothing to do with her soulmate and everything to do with being allowed, for the first time in her life, to make her own choices.

Neither of them felt the need to tell anyone that they shared a third. Generally triads completed fairly quickly; more than a year or so before the third turned up to complete the bond was pretty uncommon. The Fates weren't usually that cruel.

_Ten years_. Natasha leaned her head on the cool glass, staring unseeingly out into the night. Ten years she'd been with Clint; and she _did_ love him, _God_ how she loved him, he was part of her soul, but he drove her _insane_ sometimes. They needed their third; without her – or him, though considering Clint's preference for women and her enjoyment of both sexes, Natasha guessed it would be a woman – they were unstable, unable to be together for long without falling into their old habits of fighting over petty things, picking at each other. They _needed_ their third.

"Where are you?" she whispered. "We _need_ you. What's taking you so long?"

_Jemma_

"Breathe," Skye nudged her friend. "They're just two more S.H.I.E.L.D. agents."

"They are not _just two more agents_, Skye, they are the greatest legends in the Agency!" Jemma almost hyperventilated at Skye's casual dismissal of the two agents who were coming in to meet Coulson's team that afternoon. "They're _Avengers_, the only unenhanced humans _on_ the Avengers team, and have you _seen_ them? Agent Barton's arms are the hottest thing _ever_, and Agent Romanoff is the most beautiful woman _alive_ and… and…" she saw the look on Skye's face. "And they're standing right behind me, aren't they?" she trailed off pitifully.

Skye nodded silently, her eyes wide as she looked past Jemma. "Hello," Skye said, trying to distract them from Jemma's gaffe. "I'm Skye, and this is Jemma Simmons."

Jemma mustered up a smile and turned around, keeping the smile firmly in place. They were looking at her, and _oh Lord_, up close they were even more gorgeous than in their pictures, Agent Romanoff's beautiful sulky mouth turned up in the slightest smirk, Barton's grin wicked. Jemma gulped a little nervously.

"It's an honour to meet you both."

_Clint and Natasha_

They shared a startled look, communicating without words as they'd learned to do over the last ten years sharing a soul.

_Her?_

_Could be…_

_Say something!_

_YOU say something!_

"The pleasure's all ours," Clint told Jemma in response to Natasha's final glare.

"Or at least, we'd like it to be," Natasha added.

Jemma fell back a step, her eyes going very wide. _No_. No, that absolutely could _not_ be possible. She'd guessed long ago, from the words and the way they seemed to form one complete sentence in two totally different sets of handwriting, that she had two soulmates who she'd meet at the same time, but never in a million _years_ could she have _dreamed_ that it would be these two.

"So it _is_ you," Clint said softly, stepping forward. "We've been looking for you…"

"… for a long time," Natasha finished, her smile soft. "A _really_ long time."

Skye stared at the three of them, her eyes wide. Seeing her look, Clint lifted his left arm, showing the inside of his bicep and the neat, small words printed there. _It's an honour to meet you both_.

"Right, well, I'll be in AC's office then," Skye bolted. _Omigod I need to tell EVERYONE…_

_Jemma_

She stared at them both, unable to believe what was happening. Agent Romanoff – Natasha – was about the same height as she, Hawkeye a solid six inches taller. They both moved closer to her, but slowly, not boxing her in, giving her the chance to back away if she chose.

"I didn't know you had a third," she said numbly at last. "You two are legends, soulmates and partners, Strike Team Delta…"

"We've been waiting for you," Clint said softly. "For a really long time."

"We _need_ you," Natasha added. "We fight if it's just us. Like cat and dog. I'm sure Coulson's told you stories."

Jemma nodded. He had indeed. The Black Widow and Hawkeye had fought even more than Hunter and Morse did, from his tales. But as soulmates, it was understood that they'd always be drawn back together, no matter what. Two-thirds of a triad, alone without their third for so many years, though, that would be a deeply unstable bond. No wonder they seemed delighted to have found her.

Clint's fingers brushed her cheek gently as he raised a shaking hand, touching her wonderingly, as though he was a little unsure that she was actually real. "Look at you, you're beautiful," he said wonderingly.

Jemma couldn't meet those blazing blue eyes. She looked into Natasha's glimmering green ones instead.

"I'm so glad we finally found you," Natasha told her sincerely.

They were so genuinely welcoming, both of them looking at her with such desire, such naked need, that Jemma couldn't possibly have denied them anything, even if they _hadn't_ been the two most beautiful people she'd ever seen. She opened her arms to them and a moment later they were both embracing her, Natasha's cheek pressed to hers, Clint's thicker, longer arms wrapping around both of them, holding them tight as he pressed light kisses to Jemma's hair.

"Ours," he rumbled softly, "you're _ours_."

**1220 words.**

**I've gone all theme-tuned, it's totally Peter Quill's fault. I'm in the process of going back and adding theme songs for every pairing.**

**I'm delighted to announce (if you missed it last chapter) that what I sincerely hoped for has come to pass: another author has picked up from where I left off and made a CRACKING start. LadyWinterlight has taken on Steve/Skye/Bucky and written on in **_**I'm So Scared Please Help Me**_**. Here's the link,** ** s/10914483/1/I-m-So-Scared-Please-Help-Me**

**please check it out. She's got an awesome plot premise and I'm very much looking forward to reading the rest!**

**Still lots of stories available to continue, I'm currently limiting it to one author per story (and reserving a few for myself) so if you have a plot or an idea, please get in touch!**


	35. How About That Drink? (Skye & Gambit)

**How About That Drink?**

_Skye/Gambit_

Errr…. SkyeGambit?

**Theme song:**

**Motörhead – Ace Of Spades**

(For TheFallenArchangel, who wanted Gambit to do some damage to Ward… if you're a Ward fan, you might wish to skip this one…)

"Hello, Daisy."

_Oh, no. _She didn't even have to look to know he'd be right behind her_. What possessed me to decide I needed to go for a walk alone at this time of night? _

"Fuck off, Ward, and don't call me that." She kept walking, hearing after a second his light footfalls as he moved to keep pace with her.

"It's time for you to come with me. Your father's waiting."

"I said fuck off!"

He grabbed her arm then and Skye wrenched free, spinning to face him. "Don't you touch me!"

"Is this _cochon_ bothering you, _cher_?" A tall figure detached from the shadows, and Skye saw to her satisfaction that even Ward startled. So he hadn't known the stranger was there either. And then the words registered.

"Please don't get involved!" she panicked – _oh God_, if Ward realised this was her soulmate, he'd kill him for sure, and Skye would be doomed to a life of loneliness. Thank God Ward had never seen her soulmark, the flamboyant lettering on the back of her calf that she was always careful to keep covered with makeup if her legs were exposed.

"Yeah, walk away," Ward put himself between Skye and the weirdo in the hat, jutting his jaw pugnaciously. "This is nothing to do with you."

The guy stepped forward, lifting his chin so that Ward could see the hellish red glow in his pupils. Skye gasped at the sight.

"I'm afraid it has _everything_ to do with me, _crapaud_, so why don't _you_ walk away while you still can?" He actually smiled at Skye, a calm, unconcerned smile.

The red glow in those eyes gave Ward pause for a moment. But he was so certain of his purpose, so sure Skye was meant to be his, he started forward anyway. "You asked for this." His fist swung in what would have been a crippling blow – if it had connected.

Instead the guy moved back, quicker than anyone Ward had ever seen move. "I'm Remy, by the way," he said to Skye in a conversational tone. "Since it seems you might be my soulmate, _cher_, how about I buy you a drink once I've dealt with_ le cafard _here?"

Skye found herself grinning. She didn't understand the French words the Cajun was using, but from the increased tension in Ward's body she guessed they were insults. "He's pretty dangerous," she warned. "Be careful."

"She's not yours, she's MINE!" Ward suddenly realised what had happened, and charged forward. "_Mine_!"

Remy moved so swiftly and smoothly Skye's brain just couldn't comprehend it, and suddenly he was standing between her and Ward. "I think the lady belongs to her own self. _Vous êtes seulement un problème léger_…" and _something_ flicked out of his hand, flashing into flame as it went, striking across Ward's cheek.

Ward screamed, clutching at his face in agony, and as he pulled his hand away Skye saw the vicious burn that now marred his good looks, stretching from the corner of his mouth half-way up his cheek. She did not wince. She had no sympathy for _him_, not after all he'd done.

"I'll fucking kill you!" Blinded with rage, Ward leaped forward, too maddened to realise he was utterly outclassed until the pavement slammed into his face.

The bo staff Remy had produced from seemingly nowhere pressed firmly against the base of Ward's skull.

"We're done here. I ever see you near _my_ lady again," the tip of the staff brushed over the agonising burn on Ward's cheek and he couldn't suppress a scream, "next time, I _won't_ leave you alive." The staff struck on the side of his head, and Ward slumped into unconsciousness.

Skye stared in awe as Remy made the staff collapse and disappear under his leather coat. And then he turned to her, a charming smile making his face even more handsome.

"How about that drink, _cher_?"

"The name's Skye. And a drink sounds good to me." She slipped her hand into his gallantly offered arm, unable to help a backward glance at Ward as they walked away from his prone body. Remy had just made him look like an untrained kid. Suddenly, Skye was no longer afraid.

"Then let's go, Skye. I know a bar not too far from here."

"What was it you threw in his face?" she couldn't help but ask as they walked. "That _thing_ which was on fire…"

His free hand moved, and a playing card appeared in it. "I have a certain skill." The card suddenly caught fire, and he flicked it into the gutter.

"Wow," Skye's mouth gaped open. "What _are_ you?" she dared a look up into those hell-cored eyes. "Because your _eyes_…"

"My curse," he said a little sorrowfully. "I'm X-gene positive, _ma belle_."

"Oh." There was a story there, she could tell, about people rejecting him because of his eyes. Maybe even his own family. She felt a sudden deep sympathy with him and pressed her fingers lightly on his arm. "It's okay. I'm – not quite ordinary myself."

"Must be why you are meant for me, eh?" he smiled down at her, and seeing her returning smile, drew her gently to a halt. "You're very beautiful," gentle fingers caressed her cheek.

Skye nibbled on her lower lip nervously, and Remy, seeing it, bent his head and kissed her, gently drawing on the bitten flesh before pressing into a deeper kiss. Slender arms wound around his neck and he pulled Skye closer to him with a groan.

For several long minutes they kissed, heat building between them until Remy could take no more, not and remain decent, here in public where anyone could see. Slowly, he lifted his head, looking down at Skye, seeing her closed eyes, her lips swollen from his attentions. He crushed her even more tightly to him, thinking angrily of the asshole who'd dared to accost her. He'd kill the bastard if he ever saw him again.

"_Ma belle_," he muttered into her hair. "_Je t'adore_…"

**991 words.**

**I have no idea if Cajun French is the same as European French, which I speak… a bit, anyway. So if this needs correction from anyone fluent in Cajun, please let me know!**

_**cochon**_** – pig **

_**crapaud**_** – toad **

_**cher**_** – dear one – a generic endearment, particularly in Cajun, I understand!**

_**le cafard **_**– the cockroach (I think that one's my favourite…)**

_**Vous êtes seulement un problème léger **_**– you're just a minor problem**

_**ma belle**_** – my beautiful**

_**Je t'adore**_** – I adore you**

**While not a continuation of a Soulmate Short, my reviewer and friend KennaWynters has written a Clint/OC story partially inspired by this AU, and I do recommend you get on over there and check it out… leave her a comment, she's getting discouraged by the lack of response! I've seen the rest of the story and it's really good!**

** s/10912454/1/Fate-s-Arrow**

**(Comments make me happy too…)**


	36. I'm Sorry About This (Jemma & Peter Q)

**I'm Sorry About This**

_Jemma/Peter Quill_

_Special Peter Quill Mixtape Soundtrack:_

_Queen/David Bowie – Under Pressure_

_Queen – Another One Bites The Dust_

_Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel – (Come Up And See Me) Make Me Smile_

_Bon Jovi – Livin' On A Prayer_

"Rocket? Rocket, wake up!" Gamora turned frightened eyes on Peter. "Peter, he's really sick. We need _help_."

"We're a long way from civilization," Drax murmured.

"Maybe not." Peter flicked through the astrogation screens. "We're only a couple of jumps from Earth." He scowled at Drax and Gamora's snorts. "They're not THAT backward, we could find medical help there…"

"Someone familiar with alien biology?" Gamora crossed her arms.

"Rocket's _based_ on an Earth creature!"

"Well, I suppose we have nothing to lose by trying," Gamora looked down at their unconscious friend.

"Except Rocket," Drax pointed out. Both Peter and Gamora glared at the overly literal warrior.

"What exactly are you going to do?" Gamora asked Peter. "Kidnap some Earth doctor? We could never send them home…"

"Well, there are _some_ Earth folk who know they're not alone in the universe," Peter shrugged. "I'll do some research. See if I can find someone medically trained."

He'd narrowed it down to two choices by the time they slipped into Earth orbit, heavily stealthed. Doctor Bruce Banner or Doctor Jemma Simmons. In the end it wasn't really a choice.

"I don't want to fight _that_," Drax rumbled, poking a thick finger at the on-screen image of Banner morphing into the Hulk. "Take the woman instead."

"I'm sorry about this," a low voice said in Jemma's ear, "but we need your help."

Her eyes flew wide as something _hissed_ against her neck, but she didn't have time to get a word out.

"She might be my soulmate, Gamora, get out of the way!"

"Just because we found the words you said on her arm, doesn't mean that and you know it!"

Jemma came awake to the sound of two people arguing, over a familiar song playing in the background. She smiled at the sound of Freddie Mercury's distinctive voice. _Well, if there's Queen playing, things can't be all bad. _

It was a man and a woman talking, she thought. She blinked her eyes vaguely open, looking for the source of the voices. A tall man, short reddish hair, dressed in a dark red leather coat, was standing facing a woman with her back to Jemma. The woman had long silky black hair. As the man looked at Jemma, his eyes widening to see her awake, the woman turned to look.

She was green.

Jemma blacked out again.

"Please wake up, honey," a low voice murmured, close to her ear. "Shit, what a mess."

"I _told_ you that I go into semi-hibernation occasionally, can't believe you fucking idiots panicked!" a different voice squeak-growled. Jemma tried to puzzle out the statement and then left it for later. _Hibernation?_

"Just get out, Rocket. Let me look after her. She's been through enough, and I blame myself."

The low voice sounded despondent. Jemma forced her eyes open and saw the red-haired guy from earlier, sitting beside her, scrubbing at his face with large, capable-looking hands.

"Don't feel bad," she told him, "crazy shit does seem to happen to me."

His mouth dropped open, and then he smiled, an incredulous, delighted smile. Jemma suddenly realised just how _very_ good-looking he actually was.

_Holy cow._

"You really are my soulmate," he breathed softly, reaching out and taking her hand. Deep green eyes bored into hers, and Jemma sucked in a breath.

"Really, wow. Because you're _gorgeous_."

_Oh shit, verbal diarrhoea alert…_

The smile broadened even further. "I could say the same thing," his expression turned distinctly flirtatious, "but I don't think it'd really do you justice."

Jemma found herself blushing. She sat up, and the man reached to steady her.

"I'm Jemma, by the way. Jemma Simmons."

"Yes, I know who you are. My name's Peter Quill." He looked a bit sheepish. "I'm afraid we accidentally kidnapped you. For your medical skills!" when she looked suddenly frightened. "A, er, friend of mine was really ill, and we thought you might be one of the very few people who could possibly help. Only – he's all right now."

"And what are you going to do with _me_ now?" She was surprised, and flattered, when his green eyes slid down her body and he licked his lips with unmistakable masculine appreciation, but his gaze came back to hers.

"We send you home." It broke something inside him to tell her that, this lovely creature who was literally born to be the other half of his soul, but he couldn't keep her. The life he'd been forced into so long ago was no place for her.

Jemma stared at Peter for a long moment. He met her gaze unflinchingly, but she could see the pain there. It was becoming ever more clear, from what she could see in the room, her memory of the green woman and the strange words Peter had exchanged with whatever creature had been in the room before she opened her eyes, that she was not in Kansas anymore. Or indeed, any other place on Earth.

And yet – here was her soulmate. Quite evidently human – or at least, as human as anyone else she knew.

"What if I don't want to go?" she whispered.

"_Jemma_," he said, closing his eyes as though in agony. She moved fast, scrambling from the bed and into his lap, straddling – _ooh, nice_ – muscular thighs and settling her hands on broad, leather-clad shoulders.

"I'm not leaving, Peter," she told him as he opened his eyes and looked at her. "The universe put our marks on each other for a reason. I'm yours, and I'm staying. No matter what."

His arms closed around her. She had no idea what she was letting herself in for, Peter tried to tell himself. He should let her go. He should _make_ her go. But instead, he pulled her closer and kissed her hungrily.

_We've gotta hold on to what we've got,  
>It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not.<br>We've got each other and that's a lot,  
>For love we'll give it a shot.<em>

**997 words.**

**Jemma's telling herself it's all for Science! of course. Nothing to do with the super-hot guy.**

**I just want to see her face when she meets Rocket.**

**I continued the Jemma/Gambit Short _The Gambler_, by the way. Click on my profile to find it and check it out!**


	37. I Can't Stop It Now (Skye & Quicksilver

**I Can't Stop It Now**

_Skye/Quicksilver_

QuakeSilver

**Theme song:**

**Fleetwood Mac – The Chain**

Note: This fic takes place in some nebulous post-Age of Ultron future. Coulson is STILL trying to hide his team from the Avengers, who now include Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch in their number.

"Bring it down, Skye!" Coulson ordered in her comm, and she gritted her teeth. The ground tremored and she sucked up the power and redirected it, sending it into the ancient fortress, this time above ground, where they'd found another Divining chamber. There was no Obelisk this time, thank God. Watching another friend die would destroy her.

"Wait, my sister's in there!" a voice yelled, and then Skye was suddenly knocked off her feet, by something moving so fast it _blurred_.

"I can't stop it now!" she shouted at the man now crouched over her. Her eyes widened as she recognised him; he'd been on TV lately quite a lot, and that white hair was pretty distinctive.

"_Quicksilver_?" she said in astonishment. _What was the speedster Avenger doing _here_?_

Light blue eyes examined her curiously, and then he lifted a hand to touch his comm. "Wanda? You okay, Wanda!" he must have had a response, because he sagged with relief. "You're damn lucky she's all right, missy."

Pietro examined the girl at his feet. A pretty creature, small and slight, dark hair tumbling around her. And hellishly dangerous, he suspected, because she'd quite clearly caused the quake that was even now crumbling the ancient temple hidden in the jungles of Laos to dust. _Possibly his soulmate._

"You stay right there," he pressed a firm hand on her hip when she attempted to rise. "They sent me to try and stop you because I could get to you quickest, but the others will be here in a minute."

"Mine too…" _oh God, I have to warn Coulson_. She reached up a hand to her ear, but Quicksilver intercepted it.

"Oh no you don't."

"But I…" a large hand curled around her wrist and yanked her to her feet.

"Don't make me hurt you," he warned. "You might be my soulmate but my duty comes first until I'm sure you're not a danger to my team, or my sister."

"I – what? Soulmate?" Skye stared.

"Oh." He looked disappointed. "Your words aren't _Wait, my sister's in there_?"

"Yes – wait, is _that_ what you shouted?"

Her dark eyes were very wide as she stared up at him, and she looked very young and vulnerable. Except Pietro knew she was a scant few weeks younger than he was. His mark had appeared when he was just a baby, across his stomach, and the pain of it had brought him awake screaming in the night, according to the old Romany woman who'd raised the twins after their mother died.

Plus, _earthquakes_. He tightened his grip on her arm. _Trust no one_. No one but Wanda – and, slowly, the other Avengers. "Who are you?"

"My name is Skye," she responded immediately. "You're Pietro, aren't you?"

He nodded. "If you know who I am, you know I can break your neck before you can scream," he warned softly. "Don't try me."

Skye nodded, frightened by his grim expression. The Maximoff twins were very private people, but they'd given a few interviews in which it was strongly implied, if never outright stated, that they'd been imprisoned, tortured and experimented on by HYDRA.

Somehow, she'd never thought that her soulmate would be threatening to kill her within a minute of meeting her, though.

"Let go of her!" it was Coulson's voice. Skye turned her head to see him coming up over the rise, gun in hand, but he never even had the chance to threaten Pietro, because in an instant Quicksilver was behind her, thickly muscled forearm across her throat lifting her off her feet.

Coulson froze, his mouth dropping open, and a low voice nearby said;

"Well, well, look who's back from the dead."

Hawkeye stepped out of the trees, arrow nocked and pointed at Coulson. A deeply unimpressed look on his face. "I heard rumours. Didn't want to believe you'd really try to keep this from us for this long." He flicked a glance at Pietro. "Stand down. If she's one of Coulson's, she's on our side."

"That's good, because she's my soulmate."

"Really!" Hawkeye grinned. "Well, how about we leave you two alone to get acquainted and Phil and I go to see some people who are going to be _very upset_? You're going to love Cap's I-Am-Disappointed face," he told Phil as the two of them walked away.

Pietro had eased Skye down and loosened his grip the moment Hawkeye gave him the all-clear. She whirled around now and jabbed her finger into his chest.

"You _asshole_, what a way to treat your soulmate!"

He grinned sheepishly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. Skye couldn't help but look at the way the action made the fabric tighten across his lean hips. Wow, Pietro was _built_. The grey-and-blue stretchy top he was wearing did very nice things for his chest and shoulders as well. Somehow her hand stayed on his chest, flattening out from the poking finger. She looked up to his eyes and caught him _looking down her top_.

"I'm sorry," Pietro said guiltily.

"For being an asshole or for getting caught looking at the goods?"

"Both?" He pulled his hands out of his pockets and reached out, cupping her arms gently at the elbows. Rather to his surprise, she let him pull her closer.

"I have a known weakness for assholes," Skye confessed.

"Yeah?" he raised one hand to her cheek, a little disturbed to note that it was shaking slightly. "Well from now on _I'm_ the only asshole for you, all right?"

She wanted to argue, to make a lippy retort, but he did that thing again where he moved faster than she could see and suddenly his mouth was pressing against hers.

Skye had to take several deep breaths when he let her go. "I won't be a blushing fainty-maiden for you," she warned.

"Good. I don't want one." This time when his lips met hers, it was a very long time before they came up for air.

**998 words.**

**This is SOOO difficult to write, because Quicksilver just isn't in the MCU properly yet! I've mixed and matched tiny bits of what we know about him with little scraps of comic canon and the physical appearance of Aaron Taylor-Johnson, but I may have to revisit the Quicksilver Shorts once Age of Ultron has come out…**


	38. What Would You Know (May & Bruce)

**What Would You Know About Rage?**

_Melinda May/Bruce Banner_

GammaCav? BannerMay?

This could be a sequel to Jemma/Clint, or Skye/Steve, or even the Fitz/Tony platonic, take your pick. In any case, Coulson's team are welcome at Avengers Tower and regularly go there, which is where this story begins.

**Theme song:**

**Fleetwood Mac – Landslide **

She started awake, taking slow deep breaths as awareness returned. Tightening her fists on the edge of the sheet covering her body.

Every night, it was the same dream. The Berserker Staff, the way it had felt in her hands, so right, so perfect. The only outlet she'd ever had for the rage that had fuelled her for so long. She'd caught herself planning, many times, to go back to Cuba and dig it out of the wreckage she'd created when she smashed HYDRA's barbershop base down there. Several times, she'd tried to mention it to Thor, tell him that he should go get it and take it safely back to Asgard. But each time she did, the words seemed to freeze in her throat. If she told Thor, the Staff would be forever out of her reach.

She rose silently from her bed, dressed in her workout clothes and went down to the magnificently appointed gym all of the team had been invited to use. It was before dawn and the huge room – a whole floor of the Tower – should be deserted. It usually was at this time, she'd found.

Instead, there was a man there. Above average height, solidly built, fluffy dark hair shading to salt-and-pepper at the temples. He was wearing only loose judo pants and Melinda took a moment to appreciate the aesthetics of a very pleasantly muscled chest, thickly furred with dark hair. She _was_ a woman, after all. Though, her taste lately had seemed to be lacking. She grimaced slightly at the thought of Ward.

The man was moving slowly, surely, through T'ai Ch'i poses. His form was excellent, Melinda thought critically. In more ways than one.

A faint smile touched her lips, and she moved silently to another mat, some distance from the man, and began her own slow dance, feeling the stretch and pull in her muscles as she steadily warmed them up.

For almost an hour they worked out, neither speaking, though once when their eyes met the man gave her a small nod and an even smaller smile. Melinda inclined her head very slightly in acknowledgement.

He finished first – which was only reasonable, since he had started first – gathered a towel which had been draped over one of the exercise machines and slung it around his shoulders, moving towards the fancy water filter in one corner of the room and pouring himself a glass.

From the corner of his eyes, Bruce saw the beautiful Asian woman finish and step lightly off the mats. Courteously, he poured her a glass of water and, as she approached, turned and held it out.

He'd intended to introduce himself. But something about her face, so calm and truly serene now, unlike the seething rage she'd been poorly masking when she came into the gym, made him say instead;

"It's good for calming the rage, isn't it?"

She'd been in the very act of accepting the glass from his hand. It slipped, but he tightened his hand just in time to stop it falling. Black eyes glittered as she snapped;

"What would _you_ know about rage?"

The glass hit the floor and shattered. Neither of them noticed the shards and water splashes that sprinkled across their bare feet. They just stood staring at each other incredulously, until Bruce managed to gather himself.

"More than I ever wanted to," he muttered. The Other Guy was unbelievably silent in the back of his head, but Bruce could _feel_ him watching. Feel his fascination, his _recognition_, that here was rage that matched his own. "I'm Bruce Banner."

He knew who she was, though her name momentarily escaped him. He might have only returned to the Tower from a sojourn in India late last night, but JARVIS had quickly briefed him on events since he was last there, and flashed up images of Coulson's team, in case he ran across one of them in the common areas and was surprised. So it stood to reason that she'd recognise his name. He half expected her to run screaming, poor woman; what a nightmare to find that your soulmate was as dreadfully cursed as he was.

Instead she only lifted one dark eyebrow and said "Ah. Well, that explains quite a lot."

"It does?"

She gave him an enigmatic smile, scanning over his bare chest. "Where are the words?"

He touched his hip. "I'd offer to show you, but…"

The smile grew more genuine. "Perhaps later." She twisted side-on to him and pulled up her top, showing his cramped handwriting along her ribs on her left side. A sudden urge to lick her smooth golden skin startled him, made him step back with a crunch of glass.

"Owww!"

"Don't move!" she glanced around, reached out and grabbed the towel from around his neck, spread it across the shards of glass so they could walk away. She made him sit down on the mat she'd just been using, carefully picked out the one shard of glass that had lodged in his foot, watched with an impressed look as his skin healed almost as quickly as Steve's would have done.

"Well," Melinda met her soulmate's dark brown eyes, "now what?"

"I guess we get to know each other," his smile was rather bashful. "Won't you please tell me your name?"

_Three weeks later_

"COME, MY ANGRY LADY!" Hulk boomed, holding out a massive hand to Melinda as she stepped out of the SUV and ran to his side, the Berserker Staff in her hands, hers by right now, given by Thor's own hand. "LET US GO SMASH!"

Her grin was vicious. "Let's!"

**939 words.**

**I couldn't write this partnership without addressing the inner rage thing. They'd be the perfect pair of rage monsters together.**

**I'm still looking for people to write continuances. If doesn't have to be a 50,000 word epic, just a single follow-up scene would be good, if you have one in mind!**

**The Poll has been reuploaded for the third (and probably final) time. Go to my profile to vote, you're getting 10 this time around, and YES, I am being a little bit more flexible with possible pairings, so if you don't see one you want, ASK. That said it still needs to fit into MCU canon. So NO, I'm not going to write SkyeWard, or Skimmons, or anything like that. They need to be people who HAVEN'T met on-screen, or if they have, the story doesn't contradict it (so Clintasha is probably OK, but I'm writing them only in triads/quartets). With the possible exception of Phil Coulson, who died and might have come back with new soulmarks...**


	39. Told You I Was Quick (Jemma&Quicksilver)

**Told You I Was Quick**

_Jemma/Quicksilver_

QuickScientist

**Theme song:**

**U2 – All I Want Is You**

"Simmons," May's voice said crisply over the comm, "we need you in here. There are prisoners and at least one of them is wounded. I'm sending Hunter to escort you in."

Jemma gulped nervously, buckled her body armour and picked up her medical bag. A couple of minutes later Hunter appeared at the door of the quinjet, nodding in approval at her preparations.

"Stay close," was all he said, and she followed him at a swift jog through the complex. The sound of gunfire had died down completely.

"Is everyone gone?" Jemma panted, out of breath. Yes, she kept up her running on the treadmill but Hunter was going _fast_.

"They all bugged out once the Avengers started the assault." Hunter wasn't even breathing hard as he loped along. "No HYDRA goon in his right mind wants to face Captain America, never mind Hulk and the rest. I'm so glad we're working with these guys now. Coulson was mad not to go to them earlier."

Jemma didn't argue. She didn't have enough breath. A moment later they burst into a control room, two empty glass-walled cells on one side. May and Coulson knelt on the floor beside an unconscious young woman. A tall, white-haired man – at first Jemma assumed he was old, because of the hair, but then she saw his face and realised he wasn't old at all – was standing behind Coulson, alternately clenching and releasing his fists.

"Here she is, Pietro, this is Jemma Simmons, our medical expert," Coulson glanced up as she and Hunter ran in. "She'll help Wanda, don't worry."

"What's wrong with her?" Jemma slid to her knees beside the unconscious girl, meeting Coulson's eyes.

"She knocked herself out with excessive use of a mental power," Coulson said, as though that was completely normal. Jemma blinked. Looked at the girl – Wanda, apparently. There was a trickle of blood coming out of her ear, more blood at her nostrils.

"A _mental_ power…?" she said cautiously.

"Wanda is a telekinetic, according to Pietro. He's her brother." Coulson indicated the white-haired man. "Apparently she used her powers to take down the guards who came to kill them when they realised the complex was under attack, and then to break them both out of their cells."

_Brother and sister; they look nothing alike_. Jemma looked from the dark-haired, delicate creature on the floor to the tall, muscular male towering over her. "She'll be okay, I'll take care of her," she tried to reassure him.

He blinked startled blue eyes, and she wondered if he spoke English. Had Coulson been speaking to him in another language?

"Do you understand me?" she asked.

"Yes, I understand you perfectly." He did have an accent, something Eastern European, she thought. And his blue eyes were boring into hers questioningly.

"Oh!" Jemma blinked in astonishment. "You? Really?"

"Can we talk about that later? My sister needs help."

"What was that about?" Phil said in an undertone as Jemma began to examine Wanda, thumbing an eyelid up gently and shining a light into her pupil.

"Soulmate."

"Seriously?" that was May, sounding shocked.

Jemma sneaked a glance up at Pietro, towering over them, arms folded. He gave her a half-smile.

"Yes."

Wanda stirred then, and Pietro was suddenly, carefully setting Jemma aside. "She won't react well to seeing a strange face. Wanda? Wanda, can you hear me?"

Dazed eyes the same pale blue as her brother's opened, focussed, and then Wanda said weakly; "Did she come, Pietro? Is she here?"

"Yes," Pietro's eyes slid to Jemma, and a true smile came to his face, making her blink with the realisation that he was actually very good-looking. "And she's just as beautiful as you promised she'd be."

Jemma blushed scarlet as Phil and May both looked at her with incredulous grins. Oh God, she was never going to hear the end of this.

… _Wait, did that mean Wanda was clairvoyant as well as telekinetic?_

"Let's get out of here," Pietro scooped his sister up effortlessly, arranging her with her head resting on his shoulder.

"Oh, but…" Jemma panicked slightly. "That might hurt her…"

"She'll be fine. She just needs to sleep. She's done this before. Just show me the way out of here."

Coulson shrugged, stood up and gestured at the door. As they headed out, May and Hunter pausing to plant some explosives, he hissed in Jemma's ear; "Pietro was locked in one of those cells too. Find out if _he_ has any powers."

They were on the quinjet, strapping Wanda carefully down to a stretcher, when Jemma felt it was appropriate to ask. "Uh, Pietro?" his name felt strange on her tongue, but he seemed to like the way she said it, because he turned to her with a warm smile.

"Jemma." Their fingers brushed, reaching for the same strap, and Jemma couldn't help a blush.

"I – er, I wanted to ask – Wanda's your sister?"

"My twin."

"Your _twin_? Okay. Well, uh, she seems pretty – _special_. Are you – do you – I mean…"

"Am I special too?" his light blue eyes bored into hers, and then his mouth curved in that smile that seemed to come so easily to him. "You could say that, but I'm not like Wanda. I'm just quick."

_What does that mean?_ She didn't have time to ask, though, because at that moment there was shouting and gunshots outside, and she looked out through the open ramp to see a squad of four HYDRA commandos break cover and come racing for the jet, guns blazing.

Jemma screamed. She could see May, Coulson and Hunter racing in from the side, but they were too far away, the HYDRA guys would get to the jet first. Something _blurred_ at her side, and then the commandos were all suddenly on the ground, like so many fallen rag dolls.

Pietro came strolling back up the ramp, smiling at her again. Jemma stared at him, wide-eyed.

"See?" he said. "Told you I was quick."

**998 words.**

**This one fits a bit better into current MCU canon. We know no more about Pietro than Jemma does, but suddenly he's very intriguing!**


	40. I'm Glad We're On The Same Side (May&Nat

**I'm Glad We're On The Same Side**

_May/Natasha_

BlackCav

**Theme song:**

**Pat Benatar – Hit Me With Your Best Shot**

It all happened because of a stupid bet.

Barton had run off to go ream out Coulson when they found out Phil had faked his own death – kind of – and he'd come back with a gleam in his eye, telling her that the Cavalry was back in the field.

"Hmm?" Natasha murmured disinterestedly, flipping a page in her book.

"That's right, she'd already quit fieldwork when I brought you in, hadn't she? Did you ever meet her?"

"What does she look like?"

JARVIS helpfully threw an image of a slim Asian woman of indeterminate age up on a screen. Natasha studied it for a minute.

"No. You told me she went into Admin when she retired from the field, right? I avoided that place like the plague."

Clint grinned. Natasha was even less enamoured of 'bureaucratic nonsense' as she called it, than he was. Which was saying something. "Nat, you should totally meet her. Melinda May is the only woman I've ever met who is as badass as you are."

Well, that piqued her professional pride. Natasha set down the book and looked hard at Clint. "Clint Barton, no woman alive is as badass as I am."

"Wanna bet?" his eyes gleamed, and she considered smacking him. No, better to just prove the idiot wrong.

"I'll take that bet. Think she'd accept an invitation to spar?"

"Only one way to find out!"

"Natasha Romanoff wants to spar with me?" An expression actually showed on May's face for a moment. Something hungry and eager, that part of her that liked a challenge, and Phil knew she wouldn't back down. "Bring it on."

They agreed a date and location (one week, Avengers Tower) bout rules (no weapons of any kind, barring their own bodies) the umpire (Rogers) and criteria for the winner (four falls out of seven, determined by tap-out or unconsciousness). Clint had begged hopefully for jelly-wrestling until Natasha threatened to render _him_ unconscious before the bout so he'd miss it. He shrugged and started making bets.

JARVIS kept the book, in a section of himself locked under Pepper's control so Tony couldn't interfere. Coulson reprimanded Skye sternly after JARVIS sent him an email politely asking if he could please ask Skye to refrain from trying to hack him to manipulate the odds. She gave up and sulked.

Jemma offered to give May a cocktail of performance-enhancing drugs. Shocked, May told her very firmly that cheating was all very well against HYDRA and Cybertek, but doing so in a bout against a fellow professional was most definitely against everything she stood for. Jemma changed her bet.

The bets were about even for both sides, JARVIS informed them when they were all gathered in the comfortable cinema-style seats at the side of the gym (no uncomfortable bleachers for Tony Stark). One person had bet on a draw.

"You can't have a draw in a four falls out of seven bout, that's not possible," Fitz pointed out. "Who made that bet?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to disclose that information until the end of the bout, sir," JARVIS said politely.

May and Natasha approached the mat from opposite sides, both dressed in identical outfits, black skintight workout gear. They'd both braided their hair back tightly in a sure sign they meant business.

May studied the Russian's beautiful face. She'd never actually seen Romanoff in person before this moment. _What an incredibly stunning woman_. They were just about the same height and probably a similar weight, although Romanoff was a bit more top-heavy. Not that it would affect her balance, though it might distract May a bit.

"Agent Romanoff, Agent May," Rogers said, "Please take your places."

Silent, they both ghosted onto the mats. Bowed to each other. The noise in the gym settled to a thrumming anticipation.

Natasha could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. May was beautiful, lithe and graceful, the very way she moved showing her lethality. Suddenly, Natasha was glad this wasn't a real fight, that at the end of it both of them would walk away. She didn't think she could bring herself to really hurt the other woman.

No one was ever sure who made the first move. Even JARVIS, refining the footage later, couldn't discern it. They moved in the same microsecond, fluid and almost faster than the eye could see, hands and feet striking, defending, parrying, striking again. Natasha got in a kick to May's ribs, but a moment later found herself flat on her back, having to somersault away before an elbow strike connected with her temple.

It took three-quarters of an hour for them to get to three falls each. Steve called a break, handed them each a bottle of water. They had both declined to have a 'trainer' attend them, and simply sat down cross-legged on the mats, facing each other.

"I'm glad we're on the same side."

Natasha looked up, startled. They were the first words May had spoken to her directly, and they definitely weren't what she had expected. Oh, it was what she'd been thinking too, but – those were the words printed in a neat hand just above her navel, the words she was very careful about letting anyone see.

"I hope we always will be." Natasha was angled away from the watchers, loudly placing more bets at the moment, so she put a hand to the waist of her top and pulled it up a few inches, showing her soulmark.

May leaned forward slightly, her eyes wide. She tapped her fingers on the front of her left thigh.

"Well, this changes _everything_," they both said in unison.

"Draw?" May said.

"Draw. I won't risk putting another bruise on you. Not unless you want me to."

May smirked. "Maybe later. In _private_."

Phil leaned back in his comfortable chair, putting his hands behind his head and letting out a satisfied sigh as JARVIS announced his winnings.

"I love it when a plan comes together."

**996 words.**

**And yes, I did totally steal that line from the A-Team. But it's one of the best lines out there and I totally think Phil should use it when things go his way.**

**The Poll is open again (look on my fanfiction profile for it if you didn't vote before) for another round of voting. You get 10 votes this time. There are 100 (!) options, so pick carefully. Anything with less than 15 votes will be considered obscure and MAY not get written (some of them already have a plot in my head, and will get written eventually regardless).**

**I have one more ready to post tomorrow, and then I'll be working from the top of the Poll again, so get voting to see your favourites come up quickly!**


	41. You Need To Trust Me(Jemma&Brock Rumlow)

**You Need To Trust Me**

_Jemma/Brock Rumlow_

BioBones

**Theme song:**

**Busby Marou – I'll Get You Out Of Here**

_I'm going to die. I don't want to die_. Jemma huddled on the floor of the van, arms wrapped around her head, flinching away from contact with the boots of the men seated at the sides.

She'd been in town picking up supplies, had intended to cook a nice dinner for the team to celebrate Hunter and Bobbi's second engagement. And then, outside the market putting the groceries in the car, a sweet-smelling cloth was suddenly clamped to her face and the world went black.

She woke up on the floor of a moving vehicle, her hands zip-tied together in front of her. And since they hadn't bothered to hood or blindfold her, and the men in there with her hadn't got their faces covered, they clearly had no intention of letting her live. She huddled into a tighter ball and tried not to sob.

"It's the wrong fucking one!" the man they dragged her before shouted at his men in a thick German accent. "You got the wrong woman – you incompetent idiots!" He gestured to someone across the room, and another man came striding towards them. Jemma's eyes widened with terror. She knew that face, the black hair and even darker eyes, the swarthy good looks. She'd seen Brock Rumlow around S.H.I.E.L.D. before HYDRAgate. The handsome STRIKE commander had even caught her looking once and winked at her flirtatiously before she blushed and fled.

"Crossbones, they got the wrong one. Dispose of her."

"Sir," Rumlow nodded, and his massive hand clamped around Jemma's upper arm, yanking her to her feet.

"Please, at least kill me quickly," was all Jemma could make herself whimper as he hauled her towards the door.

He froze for the barest instant, looking down at her. Then he turned his head and spoke to the German. "She's pretty enough to suit my tastes, sir. Mind if I have a little fun with her first?"

The German laughed. "Take your time."

Jemma almost hyperventilated as Rumlow dragged her out of the room, down a seemingly endless series of corridors and finally shoved her into a small room, kicking the door shut behind them. There was a bed there, and he pushed her down on it, coming down on top of her to cover her with his body. His lips closed over hers before she could scream. She fought, trying to bite him, but it was utterly hopeless; he was far stronger than her, pinning her down, grabbing both her wrists in one big hand and dragging them over her head.

And then, much to her everlasting astonishment, he pulled back and whispered in her ear; "Shh. You need to trust me. I'll get you out of here."

Brock watched as his soulmate's tear-filled eyes went wide with shock. He'd hated frightening her like that, but he knew only too well that every inch of this place outside his own quarters was under tight surveillance. What a fucking awful time to meet her; but considering the words that had been written on his ass for twenty-seven years, since he was a green military recruit, he'd known it wouldn't exactly be under ideal circumstances.

"I don't want you. You're a traitor," she hissed back softly, obviously taking her cue from his quietness.

"I'm Fury's top man in HYDRA," he breathed in her ear, stroking her hair back from her tear-damp cheeks. "Or I was. You just trashed that, sweetheart, because I'm gonna have to blow my cover to get you to safety."

Jemma hardly dared to breathe. _Could it be true?_ But – what choice did she have but to trust him? She looked up into his midnight eyes. He was older than her, mid-forties at the least, but still extraordinarily good-looking. And _her_ soulmate. Surely he couldn't be _all_ bad. "What do you need me to do?" she whispered at last.

"I'm sorry. But we need to make it sound and look good. I'm not going to rape you, but I'm going to tear your clothes up and put a bruise or two on you. Here," he lifted her hand, pressed her nails into his stubbled cheek. "See if you can raise some blood."

He didn't hit her, but instead used pressure and pinches of his rough fingers to put a few strategic bruises on her pale skin, his eyes agonised, gently kissing each mark after it formed and whispering how sorry he was, that he'd never hurt her again. He asked her to hit him instead, use the flat of her hand to create the sound of heavy blows striking flesh, told her to scream and beg and cry while he growled obscenities.

It was ugly and awful and _insanely_ arousing. In the middle of it all Jemma couldn't quite help herself from fisting her hands in his dark hair and dragging him down for a proper kiss, deep and hungry.

The smile she got when he lifted his head was breathtaking. "Later, beautiful," he whispered, before ripping her blouse half-off with a loud snarl. His breath stuttered as he looked at her breasts, and their eyes met in silent acknowledgement that next time he did this, the outcome would be very different.

Brock opened a small wound in his own leg and smeared blood over her, whispering apologies, promising that he was clean, before bandaging the wound and covering it. An hour or so after it all began – after Jemma had screamed herself almost hoarse – he pressed his fingers against her throat, hating himself even more as her eyes widened with shocked betrayal before she fell unconscious.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Brock lifted Jemma's limp body in his arms, pressing a tender kiss to her bruised lips. "But if you don't already look dead, I'll be asked to share. And I'd kill any other man who so much as laid a finger on you."

He was watching the mushroom cloud of the explosion boil up in the rear-view mirror when Jemma stirred in the seat beside him.

**999 words.**

**PHEW.**

**Dear God Brock Rumlow is sexy. He could put a few bruises (the right kind of bruises, that is) on me ANY TIME.**

**And yes, considering the events of CA:TWS it's HIGHLY unlikely that he's Fury's man in HYDRA, but with Fury, who the hell knows? Nothing's impossible…**

**(… apparently Rumlow's going to be a major bad guy in Captain America: Civil War, though. Is it bad that I know I'll spend the whole movie drooling over a villain?)**

**Another Short has a posted sequel – the lovely Misha has continued Skye/Tony, it's called So You're The One and here's the link…**

** s/10935908/1/So-You-re-the-One**

**Don't forget to leave her (and me!) comments please!**


	42. I Know Who You Are (Clint&Natasha&Skye)

**I Know Who You Are**

_Clint/Natasha/Skye_

**Theme Song:**

**Creed – With Arms Wide Open **

**You can assume that Clint and Natasha have been together for a long time, but are more than ready to find their third to complete their bond. Timewise, we are post-San Juan and Skye is having problems controlling her powers, and is distancing herself from her team because she's afraid of hurting them.**

"Make the call, Phil," Melinda stared him down. "The way I see it, we have two choices. We let Skye fulfil her father's prediction and go to him because no one else can help. Or _you_ can make the call."

His grief-filled eyes met hers, and she sighed. "I know you love her like a daughter, Phil; Skye's damn good at working her way into people's hearts. But we're going to lose her to that crazy bastard unless you _make the call_."

He'd known for weeks that he would have to do what she was suggesting. He'd been avoiding it, knowing that the aftermath would be ugly. But finally, he nodded and picked up the phone.

Barton and Romanoff were the ones who came, of course. Stark was too angry, and Banner and Rogers never knew him well enough. But Hawkeye and the Widow knew that after all this time, he wouldn't have made the call unless he genuinely needed their help. The meeting wasn't pretty, but finally they agreed to meet with Skye.

At Skye's own request, Fitz and Mack had taken a shipping container and mounted it on the biggest shock absorbers S.H.I.E.L.D.'s budget would stretch to. She spent most of her time in there, working hard on trying to get a handle on her powers. Often she would only join the rest of the team for meals.

"Skye?" Phil rattled the container door. Clint and Natasha stood behind him, waiting quietly, in that unnervingly still way they both had. "Can I come in?"

The container was shaking slightly. Clint tipped his head to look at the flexing shock absorbers, glanced at Natasha. She twitched a red eyebrow, but said nothing.

The container stilled, and Skye's voice said wearily; "Yes, AC, come on in."

She looked up, shading her eyes against the brightness as the door opened. The only light in the container was a single hurricane lantern on the floor, and the sunlight outside silhouetted the three figures stepping inside until the door thudded shut behind them and she saw who they were. _They really did come_. May, when she told Skye that she'd pushed Phil into making the call, had been unsure whether his former strike team would be able to forgive him enough to agree to help.

"Skye," Phil said kindly, "We have some visitors. This is Agents Barton and Romanoff…"

"I know who you are," Skye spoke directly to them, to the beautiful redheaded spy and the solidly muscled blond archer. They glanced at each other, then back at her.

"Do you really?" Barton asked, and at the exact same moment, Romanoff said;

"Are you quite sure about that?"

"Wh-what?" Skye staggered backwards, the container shook, and they both moved fast, jumping forward and catching an arm each, easing her to sit down on the floor.

"Fucking hell," Natasha cradled Skye's face gently in her arms as Clint sat down beside her, pulling her to lean on his broad chest. "You poor sweetheart. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," Clint murmured soothingly as Skye began to cry, great heaving sobs that shook her small frame. "It's all right. We're here now. We've got you."

"Um," Phil said, utterly bemused, "What the _hell_ just happened?"

"She's our soulmate, Phil," Natasha looked up at him, eyes shining with her own tears. "We've been looking _so long _for her. And to find her like _this_, after you told us what happened to her…"

Phil winced, remembering suddenly the blunt, stark way he'd described Skye's past, her father, her issues with Ward and what had happened to her in San Juan. He hadn't minced his words, knowing Clint and Natasha had no tolerance for prettying up harsh truths.

But realising you'd just told two assassins about their soulmate's brutal past – well. Phil looked at the three of them, huddling together on the metal container floor, Skye almost in Clint's lap, Natasha curling like a cat around both of them, stroking Skye's tearful face as Clint held her close.

"I'll leave you alone for a while," he said. Natasha ignored him, focussed on Skye, but Clint looked up and met his eyes.

"I'll come talk to you later," he said, and Phil winced. He could almost see the list beginning in Hawkeye's mind. _Ian Quinn. Grant Ward. 'Cal'._ Barton liked to make lists. And then he liked to cross them off.

Phil retreated hastily, wracking his brain, hoping he hadn't said too much already. Barton and Romanoff on a rampage to avenge the wrongs done their soulmate would be bad enough, but the rest of the Avengers would probably want in on the action as well. He shuddered at the thought of the possible widespread destruction. The Avengers weren't exactly a precision instrument.

"It's gonna be okay, darling," Clint whispered tenderly to the sobbing girl in his lap. "We're gonna take care of you. We've got you now."

"We'll never leave you," Natasha promised, wiping tears from Skye's cheeks with her thumbs. "You'll never have to be alone again."

Skye couldn't help it; she was so overwhelmed with emotions. She _hated_ herself for being a stupid sobbing _kid_ but she just couldn't seem to stop. Not that Clint and Natasha seemed to care, though, Natasha quietly validating her right to feel angry and upset, Clint just holding her and murmuring soft words of comfort.

"I'm sorry," Skye gulped at last. "You two can't want a silly girl like me in your bond. Coulson's told me about you…"

"Has he told you that I like women just as much as men?" Natasha interrupted smoothly.

"Or that there's quite enough of me to go round?" Clint wiggled his eyebrows salaciously.

Skye couldn't help but laugh at that. Natasha silenced her with a kiss.

"I am the luckiest man alive," Clint murmured, watching, until they both turned and simultaneously punched him in the ribs.

**986 words.**

**You deserved that, Clint.**

**This was the runaway winner of the rebooted Poll, receiving 50 votes (from 110 voters) in 8 hours. Thought I'd write it and get it out early as a thank-you gift to you all for voting!**


	43. That's Not Yours (Jemma & Deadpool)

**That's Not Yours**

_Jemma/Deadpool_

**Theme Song:**

**Aerosmith – Crazy**

"We need more manpower," Hunter leant on Coulson's desk wearily, massaging his tight neck muscles. "We're running ourselves ragged, Director. Sooner or later something's going to go wrong because we're spreading ourselves too thin."

Head in his hands, Coulson didn't look up. "We've had this argument before, Hunter, and the problem is still the same. We can't trust anyone who used to be S.H.I.E.L.D. and we can't afford mercenaries. We're not even paying _you_ – unless you count whatever arrangement you and Agent Morse have come to between you."

"That's not why I'm staying and you know it," Hunter replied, annoyed at the implication Bobbi might be paying him in sexual favours. "Look, I know we're broke, but – I was thinking of calling a guy I know who hates HYDRA just as much as we do. They experimented on him, once upon a time. He's kind of a lone wolf but he's one hell of a good man in a fight."

"Would I know the name?" Phil asked wearily.

"Wilson. Wade Wilson."

It didn't ring any bells. Phil entered it into the main database; came up blank. "You trust him? Completely? With _all_ of our lives?"

"Yes."

"Make the call, then."

"You won't regret it, sir." Hunter walked away. "Your ears might, though. He can talk the hind leg off a donkey."

Phil grinned faintly and laid his head down on the surface of his desk. _Just five minutes_… it had to be the fact that he was so exhausted that caused him to forget to ask Skye to dig up some information on Hunter's friend.

They heard him coming before they saw him. Hunter had spent the last couple of days talking enthusiastically about his apparently eccentric but very dangerous friend, and the one thing that was constant about the rather wild stories he was telling was that he said Wilson talked ALL THE TIME.

So it was no surprise to hear a cheerful voice chattering nineteen to the dozen, as Jemma and Fitz stood in the kitchen. She was making sandwiches for lunch with her usual careful attention to detail and didn't look up from the cheese she was grating as Hunter and the other man entered the room.

"Wade, this is Jemma and Fitz, our science and tech boffins…" Hunter said, but Wade was already talking again.

"Oooh, nice kitchen, good, is anyone a good cook? You got the ingredients for chimichangas? I _love_ chimichangas. Yum, buffalo mozzarella, my favourite!"

Jemma smacked the hand that appeared in her vision, reaching for the grated cheese. "That's not yours, keep your grubby paws off it," she said sharply.

The hand froze. Jemma smacked at it again, just as it occurred to her that the chattering voice had finally fallen silent. She looked up and blinked as she took in Hunter's friend, a tall, leanly muscled blond with beautiful brown eyes, staring at her.

"Not yours!" she said firmly, pushing the offending hand away.

"I'm hoping _you_ might be though, beautiful," Wade said, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

Jemma stared. He was wearing a dark red, sleeveless shirt over cargo pants, some sort of weapons harness criss-crossing his muscled chest, the hilts of what appeared to be two swords sticking up over his shoulders.

He did _not_ look how she had expected her soulmate to look. Yes, Jemma fully admitted she had a weakness for handsome, cut guys. But somehow she'd always expected to end up with a fellow nerd, particularly considering the cheesy pick-up line which was her soulmark.

"My hands aren't even dirty," he said cheerfully, taking advantage of her shocked distraction to steal a few bits of grated cheese. "I just washed them."

"Whu," was about all she could get out. "_You_?"

"Soulmate? Considering your reaction, yeah, think so. Wanna see the words?" he pulled up the hem of his shirt and showed her the line of neat script across a tightly muscled six-pack. _That's not yours, keep your grubby paws off it._

"That's my writing," she said, in complete amazement.

"Should hope so too, otherwise I just made a total fool of myself. Nothing new about that, though." He stole a few more bits of cheese, cheekily popped one of them between Jemma's parted lips as she stared at him in shock. She ate it instinctively, barely noticing Hunter ushering an astonished Fitz quietly out of the kitchen and closing the door.

"Can you cook? That's so cool. I _knew_ the Fates would give me a soulmate who could cook." He looked appreciatively at the sandwich she was assembling. "And you're very pretty too which is _most_ excellent. Hunter said you're a scientist, I've always had a thing for brainy chicks, should have guessed my soulmate would turn out to be one."

"Do you _ever_ stop talking?" Jemma said a bit desperately. Wade cocked an eyebrow, appeared to think about it for a nanosecond, and shook his head.

"Rarely." His eyes fastened on her lips. "I can think of a way _you_ could shut me up, though."

Jemma blushed, and Wade grinned. "Maybe later? Has Hunter being telling you horror stories about me, is that why you look like I just hit you on the head with a baseball bat?"

She nodded a bit numbly.

"Ah, shit. Which ones?"

"Um – the one where you died and then you came back to life?"

"Which time?"

Jemma had to hold onto the counter as her knees buckled. Wade saw her face turn pale and hastily grabbed a chair, pressing her to sit down, going to his knees before her and taking her hands, chafing her icy fingers gently in his large, capable ones.

"Look at it this way," he said flippantly, "at least you won't have to worry about me getting killed when I'm out on missions?"

**967 words.**

**I. Just.**

**I. Don't. Know.**

**43 of you wanted to see these two together. A more unlikely pairing I can't imagine – they have NOTHING in common as far as I can tell, apart from the fact that Wade likes food and Jemma likes to make sandwiches (she made that special one for Fitz once…) So I really hope this was okay and you can somehow imagine them living happily ever after with Wade talking Jemma's ear off and her smacking his fingers out of things he shouldn't be touching?**

**If you think this is terrible and you want me to try again, I will, but someone's going to have to cue me a plot premise!**


	44. My Very Own Hero (Fitz & Darcy)

**My Very Own Hero**

_Fitz/Darcy Lewis_

Shocked Engineer (because it's too funny not to)

**Theme Song:**

**Electric Six – Danger! High Voltage! (Again. Too funny not to)**

Note: A Thunderstick is the device Ward used in the episode in Peru. Fitz also threw Coulson one to use in the Battle at the Hub. According to the wikia, it 'releases a wave of sonic energy designed to quickly incapacitate an attacking force'.

Being science support _sucked_. The bad guys seemed to view you as awfully convenient targets slash bait to lure the wrecking crew into positions where they could take potshots at them. Resigned to being taken hostage for the third time this month, Darcy curled up under her desk and wrapped her arms around her head. At least Stark had sprung for heavily reinforced furniture so there was less likelihood of a stray ricochet taking her out. And thank God Jane wasn't here today. One more episode of his soulmate being taken hostage and Thor was going to take her to Asgard permanently.

"Hey," she risked lifting her head from her arms for a moment, found herself looking across the aisle into the blue eyes of the engineer from Coulson's team who was working with Bruce on some super-secret project. They'd never spoken, but he was rather cute in a nerdy kind of way. _Fitz_, she thought his name was. "You got your Taser on you?" he had a Scottish accent that would have made her go weak at the knees, even if he just hadn't said the words of her soulmark…

_Oh_. "Never go anywhere without it," Darcy whispered, watching for his reaction. Sure enough, he started back, eyes going wide for a moment before he shook his head to clear it.

"_Shit_," Fitz whispered, heartfelt, staring into the big, dark blue eyes of the pretty lab assistant hiding under her desk. Magnified by her glasses, they looked deep enough to drown in. What a fucking _terrible_ moment to meet his soulmate. He'd been eyeing her for a week, but felt far too shy to talk to her. She peeked nervously out from under the desk, pulled her Taser and slid it quietly across to him.

"Please don't do anything heroic that will get you killed," Darcy begged softly.

"Wasn't the plan." He looked away from those eyes – that _cleavage_, _oh_ _thank you_, _God_ – with an effort, focussed on swiftly disassembling the Taser. What an unbelievable stroke of luck that he'd been fiddling with the busted Thunderstick when the labs were invaded. Now if he could just get the contacts to match up… hastily he hid the parts under his legs as boots clattered close by.

"That girl," a low voice snapped. "Get her. We'll show them we mean business."

Fitz barely suppressed a scream as rough hands dragged Darcy from her hiding place. She didn't look at him, didn't draw attention to his hiding place, and as soon as they were gone he started working even more frantically, willing his hands to stop shaking. _What the hell were they going to do to his soulmate? _

Darcy kept her eyes away from Fitz, afraid that if she looked at him she might start screaming. _Am I going to die before I even get to touch my soulmate?_ She'd seen what he was fiddling with, though, knew what the device did. If he could get it to work, they might just have a chance. There were a dozen commandos in the lab, but none of them were wearing ear protection, and all the lab staff were doing the smart thing and hiding under their desks.

Except her, of course. She was currently being dragged towards a smashed window, used as a human shield for this asshole.

_Oh shit. He's going to chuck me out the window to prove his point. On the other hand, maybe not – he has to know several members of the team can fly…_ she could see Falcon crouched on the building opposite. Then something cold was pressing against her temple.

"You accede to our demands or I blow her fucking brains out!" the terrorist shouted. "Five. Four. Three..."

_Oh shit I don't even have time to tell her to get down…_

Fitz scrambled out from under the desk and slammed the Thunderstick down on top of it, ducking his head low, praying Darcy wouldn't fall out of the window. The flash and boom had barely cleared before he was racing across the lab. He'd never moved so fast in his life. The deafened, stunned commandos were still crumpling to the floor. As was Darcy. Fitz reached her as she toppled towards the shattered window, dragged her from the loosening grip of the bastard who'd been just about to murder her. She slumped into his arms.

"You with me, Darce? Can you hear me?" Jane's voice sounded faint and tinny. Darcy blinked her eyes open blearily.

_Oh. Medical. What a novel surprise_, she thought sarcastically. And then she remembered the events that had led up to her ending up here this time around and her eyes flew wide. "Fitz! Is he all right?"

"He's fine," Jane smiled down at her. "He was a hero, Darce. That guy was two seconds from shooting you and none of the others could have got to you in time, even Clint didn't have a clear shot. Fitz saved you and then overrode their hacks that had isolated the lab to get you out."

"Oh," Darcy settled back against her pillows, a smile curving her mouth. "See, Jane, I always told you my soulmate would be a handsome hero as well."

"You did." Jane smiled in return. Turned her head to grin at Fitz, who'd just entered the room and frozen, startled, his mouth falling open. "Here's your handsome hero now, Darce."

She looked smaller lying there against the white sheets, though when she turned her head to see him her smile was as bright as the sun. Fitz approached shyly, taking the hand she held out to him eagerly.

"Hey," he said awkwardly, speaking loudly to ensure she could hear him. "I'm sorry about your hearing, it'll be back to normal in a couple of days…"

Darcy's full lips curved in a sensual smile. "Shut up and kiss me, hero."

Jane smiled and slipped silently out, closing the door behind her, as Darcy's arms wound around Fitz's neck.

**997 words.**

**I quite like the idea of Fitz playing tech-geek-hero to save his girl. And we do know that Darcy likes geeks who manage to save her life…**


	45. Everything's Under Control(Jemma&Spidey)

**Everything's Under Control**

_Jemma/Peter Parker_

BioSpider

Disclaimer: Marvel own all characters in this fic.

**Theme Song: **

**Rick Springfield – Jesse's Girl**

This is a sequel to the previous Fitz/Darcy fic, My Very Own Hero…

Fitz and Darcy were _adorable_ together. Jemma smiled as she watched them in the Tower labs, Darcy gazing lovingly at him while he worked, always having the tool he needed ready to hand to him. And Jemma had never wanted anything more than to see Fitz happy, truly. The smile that had graced his face since he found Darcy was nothing short of ecstatic.

Jemma sighed a little, turned back to her own work, rubbed absently at the words on her wrist. While she was happy for Fitz, it did feel just a tiny bit as though someone had stolen her best friend. She wished her own soulmate would hurry up and arrive. Even if he was possibly a dangerously cocky maniac. What kind of idiot said _Everything's under control!_ to their soulmate on first meeting?

When the explosion blew out one wall of the lab, Fitz's first instinct was to shove Darcy under the lab bench. Then he leapt towards Jemma, pushed her down too. Unfortunately that left him exposed when the opposite wall blew _in_, and he went flying across the lab, skidding uncontrollably across the floor towards the huge hole in the wall.

"_Fitz_!" Jemma screamed, scrambled up and raced after him. He was gripping onto the window-ledge by his fingertips; she threw herself down on her stomach and grabbed his wrists. "Oh my God oh my God – _Darcy_!" but the other girl was unconscious, knocked out in the second blast, she realised as she looked frantically over her shoulder. "Fitz, I can't pull you up!" he was heavier than she was, and she had absolutely nothing to brace herself against. He was slipping. Sliding away from her over the seventy-storey drop, his face turned up to hers, agonised.

"Take care of Darcy!" he shouted.

"Fitz, _no_!" A flash of red in the corner of her eye, and she turned her head to see a figure in a red-and-blue suit coming fast, swinging across the side of the building.

"Save him, _please_ save him!" Jemma shouted at Spider-Man.

"Everything's under control!" and suddenly Fitz was pulled from her grip, jerking upwards and in over her body into the wrecked lab. Then strong hands were lifting her too, setting her on her feet well away from the gaping hole and that terrible, vertiginous drop.

"Fitz, oh God," Jemma stumbled towards him, hugging him, utterly relieved he was alive. He hugged her back, sucking in huge gulps of air.

Peter watched, realising painfully that every suspicion he'd had about his soulmate was true. She was in love with another man. And he'd done the right thing and saved that man for her, instead of letting him fall to his death. He turned away on silent feet, left without looking back. He didn't see Fitz break away from Jemma and both of them fall to their knees beside Darcy, stroking her hair and fussing over her until she opened her eyes. At which point Jemma suddenly spun around, her eyes going wide with realisation – only to realise that they were alone.

"Where did he go?"

It took Skye a fortnight to track down someone who might know Spider-Man, a young photojournalist called Peter Parker, and another week to arrange a meeting with him. He seemed surprisingly skittish for a journalist. But eventually Jemma walked into a café and sat down opposite a young man with a shock of reddish hair.

"Peter Parker?"

"I am, yes. So what's so urgent that you need to talk to Spider-Man?" he looked up, met her eyes and blanched. "You!"

Jemma cocked her head, her brain racing at lightning speed, realising there was only one possible reason he could have reacted like that when she was certain that she'd never seen his face before. "It's you, isn't it?" she said softly. "Is that your real name, Peter? You don't have to worry, I won't tell anyone."

"I don't get why you bothered to track me down," he said, suddenly angry. "I saw you with _him_. What do you need me for? I saved him for you, that's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"I'm glad you did," her smile was achingly lovely, breaking Peter's heart, and then she reached out a slender hand and put it gently over his on the table. "I don't think his soulmate would have been able to go on without him if you hadn't."

"_His_… soulmate?" he said, hardly daring to hope.

"Fitz is my best friend. Darcy, his soulmate, was unconscious on the lab floor when you saved his life, Peter. They both want to thank you." Jemma pressed lightly on his hand, that hand that was far too strong for what he claimed to be. "And I've been looking for you since I was four years old," she said it quietly.

Peter found himself shyly returning her smile. "You don't look that much older than me."

"I _am_ glad you know how to compliment a girl, at least. After running out on your soulmate, you've got a little bit of ground to make up." Jemma raised her eyebrows at him, and was relieved when he let out a sheepish little laugh and turned that large, capable hand under hers, grasping her fingers lightly.

"I'm sorry. I – had entirely the wrong impression."

She stared into his eyes, realising suddenly what a noble thing he'd done. He'd selflessly walked away from his _soulmate_ because he believed she loved another man. And this was _Spider-Man_, the most anonymous hero out there.

"Let's start again," she said quietly. "Hello. I'm Jemma Simmons."

"Peter Parker." He smiled at her, a proper smile, and it transformed his face to something more than just boyish good looks. "I am absolutely _delighted_ to meet you."

**961 words.**

**I quite like this idea. And of all the characters I have to write, Peter strikes me as the one (apart from possibly Steve) who would be un-confident enough, and self-sacrificing enough, to walk away if he thought his soulmate was in love with someone else. The two-clever-science-boffins plot I originally came up with was a bit too obvious. What do you guys think? Always happy to hear your opinions…**

**The Loki/Jemma short has now been continued, here's the link**

** s/10944040/1/What-Right-Have-You**

**Pop on over and have a read, I'm loving this one, and don't forget to leave Kathryn (and me!) a comment please!**


	46. This One's Mine (Natasha & Skye)

**This One's Mine**

_Natasha/Skye_

BlackSkye or BlackQuake

Disclaimer: Marvel own all characters in this fic.

**Theme Song:**

**The Script – I'm Yours**

"You're going to be an Avenger, Skye, stop looking as though you're going to your own funeral," May told her crisply.

"Can't help it," she muttered sullenly, "how the hell I'm supposed to pull this off without telling them Coulson's alive, I can't imagine."

"Yes. Well, you know I agree it's not one of Phil's brightest ideas, but he is the Director. Just try and conceal it for as long as possible," May said, not unkindly.

"Fantastic, keeping secrets from my new team. What a fantastic way to make friends and influence people," Skye grumbled under her breath, but then she had to stop because they were walking in the door of Avengers Tower, and May had made it very clear to her that JARVIS monitored every square inch of the place. She was looking forward to meeting the AI the most, actually.

They were expected. May wasn't invited up, and Skye looked sadly over her shoulder at the last remnant of her old life as the elevator doors slid closed. May gave her a bracing smile and a nod, mouthed "Remember what I taught you!"

Skye stiffened her spine. May had taught her that she was strong, that she wasn't just a weak, silly girl. Had told her to take pride in her abilities, however she came by them. When the elevator doors slid open, she walked out with her head held high and a calm smile on her lips.

"Holy smokes," a blond man she recognised as Clint Barton said, "wouldja look at that."

Skye looked around. They were all there; apart from Thor, who apparently lived in London with Doctor Foster. Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff, the original Avengers, joined now by Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes.

The testosterone in the room was so thick she nearly choked on it, particularly since all of the men stood when she entered and several of them were actively heading in her direction. Skye backpedalled, but the elevator door had closed behind her and she ended up with her back against the cold steel doors, staring nervously up at the men towering over her.

"Hel-lo _gorgeous_," Barnes said with a cheerfully flirtatious grin, grabbing her hand and bowing over it, grazing her knuckles with lips that looked far too sensuous to belong to a man.

"You must be Skye," that was Sam Wilson, his teeth bright in his dark face as he smiled at her – looking agonisingly like her lost friend, so she found a lump welling in her throat despite the ridiculousness of the situation. "We've all been _dying_ to meet you."

"And you're even _more_ stunning than your file picture." Barton again, running his eyes over her body.

"Back off boys, she's a techie, I get first dibs," Stark said smugly.

Banner and Rogers didn't speak, but they were both surveying her with hungry eyes. Skye wondered inconsequentially if the male Avengers were like this with every woman who crossed their path, or if she was somehow a special case. She looked helplessly at Romanoff, who was lying languidly back on a couch, grinning at the hopeful antics of her male teammates.

"How in hell's name do you put up with this bunch of bozos?"

The stunning redhead burst out laughing. Absolutely _cackling_, causing all of the men to turn to look at her, and then at each other with confused expressions.

"You okay, Tash?" Clint said after a few moments.

Natasha wiped tears of laughter from her eyes and stood, walking over towards Skye, edging Barnes and Wilson out of her way with a few twists of her hips and shoulders. She grinned as Skye's eyes followed the sensual movements.

"Sorry, boys," Natasha said airily to her team-mates, before she turned and looked Skye straight in the eye. "This one's mine." Slowly, she eased down the zip between her breasts.

Skye's eyes widened, not just because of the rather spectacular cleavage being revealed. Because there between the Russian spy-assassin's breasts was a line of text in her scruffy, spiky writing.

_How in hell's name do you put up with this bunch of bozos?_

"Well," Skye looked up into Natasha's laughing green eyes, "I guess we'll be putting up with them together?"

_Five hours later_

Clint edged along the air duct, trying to move as soundlessly as he could. He was still about twenty yards from the opening above Natasha's bedroom, where he planned to plant a pair of miniaturised wireless cameras Stark had provided.

"Hurry up, Barton, I've got the popcorn ready," Tony said in his earpiece. "And the tissues…"

_Fuck off, Stark, if Natasha catches me I won't have a gullet to swallow with_, Clint thought. A crackle under his left hand made him freeze. Very quietly, he took out a tiny pen torch and shone it down. A piece of paper was taped to the base of the duct. With his name on it.

He removed the paper, already suspecting what he'd find.

"_Hawk, do you really want to piss me off that badly? Tell Stark to rent a fuckin' girly porno, the cheapskate_."

"Busted," he said aloud, and started crawling backwards through the duct.

Skye giggled, leaning her chin on Natasha's shoulder as they watched the retreating archer through Natasha's own wireless cameras. "He's absolutely terrified of you, isn't he?"

"With good cause." Satisfied that they wouldn't be interrupted, Natasha twisted lithely, catching her soulmate in her arms. "Don't worry. Soon enough we'll have them all terrified of you too."

Skye smiled at the older woman happily. "I am so glad I found you."

"So glad I found you too, Милая моя," Natasha said softly, running her fingers into Skye's hair. "So very glad." She leaned in, giving Skye time to pull back, but the younger woman met her lips eagerly, sliding her arms around Natasha's neck and pulling her close.

Милая моя – my sweet

**985 words.**

**I can't write femslash. I'm not phobic but – I just can't. I'm a bit squicked out, I'm afraid. Sorry. So if you want to see any more, you'll have to find a femslash writer to do a continuance for you!**

**That said, I did find the premise of this one hilarious, with all those poor sex-starved superheroes and Natasha snaps up the only single girl they've seen in AGES…**


	47. I'm So Alone (Clint & Natasha & May)

**I'm So Alone**

_Clint/Natasha/May_

BlackHawkCavalry… or perhaps Clintashamay?

Disclaimer: Marvel own all characters in this fic.

**Theme song:**

**Pink Floyd – Comfortably Numb **

_I'm so tired._

_I can't let my team see me like this._

_They wouldn't understand._

Melinda May was alone on the Playground's roof, having a very quiet, unobserved breakdown. She was so _tired_ of being strong for everyone, being Coulson's rock and his conscience, of bracing the others through their moments of crisis and uncertainty. Since she broke it off with Ward – and yes, she hated the bastard, but he _had_ been useful for releasing tension – the stress had been ratcheting higher and higher inside her. Until now, when she broke, like a clockwork mechanism wound past its breaking point, tiny springs and cogs exploding, shattering under the pressure.

_I have to pull myself together._

Tears were running down her cheeks, her small body shaking violently as she crouched, hugging her knees.

_I'm so alone._

She was the team's secret-keeper. The one who Coulson trusted with everything weighing him down, the one whose shoulder Skye cried on when the effort of controlling her powers _all the time_ got to be too much, the one they all looked at when the shit hit the fan, _believing_ that everything would be all right because the Cavalry was there and she could get them out of _anything_.

_I couldn't get Trip out._

The tears slid down her cheeks even faster as she thought of _him_, the friend she'd never even had a chance to say goodbye to. The other one who'd been a steady rock for the team, whose loss had left a gaping hole that no one would ever be able to fill.

"You're sure that's her?" Clint whispered doubtfully. He and Natasha were crouched on the edge of the roof, having just zip-lined across from a nearby tree. They hadn't even spotted the huddled, sobbing woman until they landed.

"Matches the picture Hill showed me of the new Deputy Director," Natasha breathed back softly. "And this is the place she thought they might be holed up."

"Well if the Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. regularly has nervous breakdowns on the roof in the middle of the night, this is even more fucked-up than we thought," Clint muttered.

"She retired from the field after some kind of breakdown, apparently," Natasha told him. "Coulson pulled her out of Admin because she was a competent pilot."

"You know as well as I do that you don't get a nickname like The Cavalry for being a _competent pilot_."

Natasha said nothing, but Clint felt his soulmate shift very slightly on the roof next to him.

"How do you want to do this?" Natasha murmured at last. The original plan had called for them to infiltrate the building, kidnap Coulson and ask him just what the fuck he thought he was playing at, trying to hide the fact that he was alive when he knew damn well Maria Hill was working for Stark. Natasha had tripped her up verbally just yesterday and eventually wormed the whole story of Coulson's actual-death experience out of her.

Clint let out a soundless sigh. "I reckon we take _her_ and ask her a few pointed questions first. She doesn't appear to be in any fit state to dissemble."

Her soulmate had come up with plenty of worse plans over the years, so Natasha didn't argue. Silently they separated, moving across the roof in a pincer movement to trap Agent May in between them, both with non-lethal weapons in hand – Natasha ready with her Widow's Bites, Clint a Taser arrow on the string.

"Are you Melinda May?" a low male voice nearby broke May out of her near-trance, and she shot to her feet with a startled scream, striking out instinctively – but he was further away than she'd expected, and her blows hit only air. The real attack came from behind, and her reaction time was dulled just enough by her fatigue and distress that she hit the ground before she knew it, arms wrenched painfully behind her back.

"Don't fight, it won't change anything," a female voice said in her ear.

Something _clicked_ in May's brain at those words, but the adrenaline was pumping too hard for her to track it down just now. "You'll have to kill me to make me stop fighting," she panted, preparing to pop her shoulder out of its socket, knowing it was the only way to get out of that painful grip.

"_What?_"

Much to her surprise, the woman let go. May bounced up onto her feet, setting herself into a defensive stance, backing up, trying to get both the man and the woman in her view. They were both lowering weapons, staring at her, she could see in the faint moonlight… was that a _bow_ in the man's hands? _Surely not_… she lowered her hands, staring.

"Are you who I think you are?"

He paced towards her, tall, blond, his handsome face breaking into a wide grin. "If you're thinking I'm Clint Barton, yeah. If you're thinking I'm your soulmate – that too. Allow me to introduce Natasha, our third."

May stood staring from one to the other of them in disbelief as Romanoff approached, also smiling.

"Not possible," she said a bit faintly.

"Why were you crying, dear one?" Natasha asked, reaching to take the other woman's slender shoulders in her hands. There was strength there, she could feel the tightly packed muscle under the close-fitting leather coat.

"It's just," Melinda looked at Natasha, at Clint, moving in beside her, lowering his hands to settle one at the small of each of their backs. "I'm just so _alone_."

It was a cry for help neither of them would ever be able to deny. They both moved in, drawing her into their embrace, Clint nestling her head against his shoulder while Natasha curved sinuously against her back.

"Not any more," Clint said softly, stroking the silken black hair that tumbled across his shoulder. "You're not alone any more."

"We've got you," Natasha whispered. "We'll always be with you."

**994 words.**

**I don't seem to be able to write May without angst at the moment. I think there's an awful lot of that bottled up inside her, and at some point the explosion is going to be spectacular.**

**I managed to make myself cry writing this as well, had to walk away for a little while after writing about Trip's death. I dithered over whether to delete that part, but in the end I decided to leave it in as it adds to the emotional weight of the story and May's burden. Sorry if you had to go hunt for a tissue like I did!**

**Tomorrow we're revisiting my favourite bad boy, Brock Rumlow, and finding out what he and Skye could possibly have in common…**


	48. I Bid Your Soulmate (Skye& BrockRumlow)

**I Bid Your Soulmate **

_Skye/Brock Rumlow_

QuakeBones

Disclaimer: Marvel own all characters in this fic.

**Theme song:**

**Meatloaf: I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)**

**Rules are made to be broken. So I'm breaking my 1,000 word limit for this fic and giving myself double :D I've been dying to see these two together for AGES. In comic canon, Rumlow (Crossbones) is a mercenary, which is the angle I'm playing here…**

"Sir, I need to see you. Now."

Phil looked up to see Jemma at his office door. White-faced and shaking, she was clearly very agitated. He rose and went to her quickly, guiding her to a chair. "Whatever is it, Simmons?"

She sucked in a shaky breath. "I – was running some medical tests on Skye. And I realised that we never did fill in all the S.H.I.E.L.D. standard forms, due to the agency collapsing the very day she joined – anyway, we started filling them in, and when we got to the soulmarks section – sir, I didn't know she _had_ one!" She shoved a printed photograph into Phil's hand. "This is on, well, to put it politely, sir – on her bottom."

Phil bit his lip, trying not to laugh at Jemma's obvious embarrassment. He lost all urge to laugh as he looked at the photograph and the words on Skye's skin.

_I'm Brock, but I suppose you know that._

"_No_," Phil resisted the desire to put his fist into the wall. "_Tell_ me this isn't _his_ writing!"

"It's a match in the database, sir," Jemma said weakly. "I tried not to react but I think Skye suspected something…"

"Shit. What does _his_ soulmark say?" Phil demanded.

Jemma handed over another photograph. _It's nice to meet you, I guess?_ was scrawled in the loopy handwriting Phil knew all too well was Skye's, across Brock Rumlow's muscular forearm. Phil actually remembered seeing it, now he thought about it. Rumlow had flaunted it, often joking about how he hadn't met his soulmate yet but he was looking forward to it because she was twenty years younger than he was.

"What do we do, sir?" Jemma asked hesitantly. Brock Rumlow was a thorn in the new S.H.I.E.L.D.'s side, a mercenary working for the highest bidder – which was generally HYDRA and its allies. "If he by some chance found out…"

"I'm thinking," Phil said absently. "Send Skye in, please, Jemma. And May."

There was no way he could have kept it from Skye anyway. He was a bit surprised she hadn't already gone looking through S.H.I.E.L.D.'s databases for someone with the name _Brock_. She certainly would now.

"You know who it is, don't you?" was Skye's immediate question on entering his office. "I want to meet him…"

Phil closed his eyes in pain. "It's not quite so simple as all that."

And then May came up with an idea.

"You can't afford me, Coulson." Rumlow leaned back comfortably in his chair. They were meeting at an anonymous café, the location arranged just a few minutes before. Bobbi, Hunter and May were out there watching. They were sure Rumlow hadn't been followed.

"You're broke. You've got no funding. And since you're too proud to go to Stark for help – and he won't pay for mercenaries anyway – I fail to see how you can tempt me into joining your side. A man's gotta live."

"What," Phil said, "if I had something more than money to bid for your services?"

Rumlow surveyed the older man thoughtfully. _Damn, but Phil always had been a good poker player_. "And what would that be?"

Phil slid a photo across the table, face down. He kept his fingers firmly over it as Brock reached for it. "There are conditions, Rumlow. I'll need proof of your good faith. But I bid… _your soulmate_."

Brock had been tilting his chair back. The front legs hit the floor with a crash as he almost ripped the picture from under Coulson's fingers and flipped it over. And there was his writing, on smooth pale skin. Only two words, _I'm Brock_, only a tiny patch of skin. For long moments he stared. And then he looked up at Phil.

"Tell me what you want me to do."

"The labours of Hercules are nothing in comparison," Phil warned. "You've got a lot to make up for."

"I'm your man, Coulson."

"She's one of mine. S.H.I.E.L.D. to the bone."

"Then so am I." Rumlow's eyes were unflinching, focussed, dedicated. Phil slid another piece of paper across the table.

"This is your proof of _my_ good faith. A list, in your soulmate's handwriting. When you've ticked off every item on it? Call me."

Brock flipped the paper, noticed immediately the loopy writing that matched perfectly that on his shoulder, trailing down the page in a long list. The first item on the list said _Steal Loki's sceptre_. The second said _Capture Baron von Strucker and deliver him to the Avengers._

"Looks like I got some work to do. I'll be in touch."

It took him two years, one working inside HYDRA and one with the Avengers. Steve Rogers accepted him with surprising grace – once he dumped a chained von Strucker on the lobby floor of Avengers Tower, anyway. By the time he finally ticked off the last item on the list – that _damnable_ sceptre, it was HYDRA's most prized possession and they kept _moving_ it – he was a fully-fledged member of the Avengers team.

"I have to deliver it to Coulson," Brock told Thor. He'd been upfront with the Avengers from the beginning about the reason for his change of heart, knowing there was no point in lying about it. He wanted his soulmate, and Coulson had promised to deliver if, and _only_ if, Brock proved he'd turned to the side of the angels once and for all.

"You earned the right, brother Crossbones," Thor said gravely, handing the sceptre over, "but please advise the Son of Coul that I wish to return the sceptre to the safety of Asgard's vaults."

They met back in the same café where it all began. Brock was carrying the sceptre in a guitar case; he nodded to Coulson – who was looking a lot more prosperous these days, now that S.H.I.E.L.D. was a legitimate agency again and HYDRA was in ruins, thanks to Brock's efforts – and said; "It's in there. But I'm afraid Thor wants it back. He's waiting in the van." He nodded at the black van parked across the street outside.

"That's fine. I'm quite happy for it not to be in the possession of anyone on Earth."

Brock reached into his pocket and with slightly trembling fingers, removed the much-folded sheet of paper. He smoothed it out on the table and looked up to Coulson's eyes. "Here's your list, Coulson."

Every item on the list was struck through with thick black lines, dates and notes scribbled alongside in Brock's spiky hand. There were a couple of bloodstains. He'd paid in blood and pain for some of the things on that list, earned new scars.

"There's only one problem," Brock said unwillingly.

"And what's that?" Coulson didn't need to look at the list. He had his own version, and Rumlow had made damn sure to provide proof of everything on it as the tasks were completed. He looked into Rumlow's dark eyes instead. Wondering if the man truly had changed.

"You told me my soulmate was S.H.I.E.L.D., one of yours, and I said I would be too. But – I _can't_. I'm an Avenger, and I can't walk away from that. There's too much still to do. Von Doom is making trouble and AIM are becoming a real threat…"

Phil smiled. "I think your soulmate will understand."

Brock sagged with relief. "Please, Coulson," he said hoarsely at last. "When can I meet her?"

Coulson stood, lifting the guitar case. "I'll go deliver this to Thor."

Brock watched as Coulson walked away, heading outside to the van. Phil nodded to a young woman sitting at the table closest to the door, working away on her laptop. Brock had noticed her when he came in, assumed she was a student or something from her hippyish clothes and long dark hair falling over her face. Young and pretty, he'd noted vaguely. He suddenly paid a great deal more attention as she closed her laptop, picked it up and came across to him, sliding into the seat Coulson had just vacated and looking up at him from eyes as dark as his own.

"It's nice to meet you, I guess?" Skye said uncertainly.

Brock sucked in a deep breath. "I'm Brock," he said slowly, "but I suppose you know that."

Skye had been in his presence several times over the last couple of years, though she'd made sure to stay far enough away that he wouldn't speak to her, when he'd come to deliver things to Coulson as proof of his completion of items from the list. She doubted she'd ever become immune to the impact of those dark good looks, though. Even the scar on his cheek, recently gained, only added to his rugged attractiveness.

She was beautiful. Dear God, but she was _stunning_, small and dark of hair and eye, exotically alluring, nibbling nervously on a plump pink lower lip. Brock had to clench his hands on his knees under the table, because his every instinct was screaming at him to take her in his arms and ravage that soft mouth with his own.

"Won't you tell me your name?" he asked softly. After all the pain and effort he'd been through for her sake, the blood he'd shed, the last thing he wanted to do was frighten her off now. He'd _earned_ this chance, but he still had to make it count.

"Skye. Just – Skye."

"It's beautiful. _You're_ beautiful."

She blushed a little shyly, looked at her hands, folded atop her closed laptop. Nervously, Brock reached out, laid his big hand gently over her small ones.

"I daresay you know it all, since you wrote the list. I've been a pretty terrible person – I've hurt people, caused the deaths of hundreds, maybe thousands…"

"Saved millions more," Skye looked up at him with a small smile. "None of us have perfect pasts, Brock. As far as I'm concerned, _that_," she nodded at the list, still lying forgotten on the table, "more than wipes out any red in your ledger. Plus I heard what you told Phil, about staying with the Avengers. That's proof enough for me."

Brock gulped, unaccountably nervous. "You'll give me a chance, then?"

Skye smiled shyly and nodded. And then he was standing, tugging gently on her hands, his dark eyes hopeful and intent, and she realised just how long he'd been waiting for this. She stood, looking up at him nervously. He was a big man, tall and powerful; the top of her head didn't quite reach his chin. He didn't seem bothered by her small size, drawing her gently into his arms, giving her plenty of time to pull back, to escape, if she changed her mind.

She came to him willingly, turning her face up towards his, her dark eyes drifting closed as he bent his head. For a moment Brock just stared, unable to believe that this gorgeous creature could possibly be _his_, after all that he'd done in his life. How could he possibly have earned such a reward, with all the stains on his soul?

He wasn't kissing her, just staring. Skye opened her eyes and gave him an arch look. "Forgotten how to kiss a girl, Brock?"

"Ain't never kissed one as beautiful as you," he muttered gruffly, and then his hands slid into her hair, tilted her head just right as his mouth came down on hers.

Skye moaned as he kissed her with consummate skill, his mouth warm and searching over hers, his stubble rasping her chin lightly. Her hands came up, landed on his muscled chest, and she felt him tremor slightly, a low growl rumbling in his throat before he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, callused thumbs lightly caressing her cheeks.

"I'd burn the fucking world down for your sake," Brock confessed raggedly.

"I know. I promise I won't ask you to."

**1976 words.**

**NOT SORRY AT ALL for breaking the rules. It's exactly what Rumlow would do ;-)**

**Next chapter, we're going to Asgard. If you didn't already read the Jemma/Loki sequel What Right Have You, I encourage you to check it out. The next Short fits neatly in after the end of Chapter 5 of that fic.**


	49. I Will Never Let You Fall (Skye&Fandral)

**I Will Never Let You Fall**

_Skye/Fandral_

Skydral

Disclaimer: Marvel own all characters in this fic.

**Theme Song:**

**Creed – Higher**

This one takes place in the same AU as the Jemma/Loki Short, _What Right Have You_, and also the continuance of the same name, if you didn't read that yet it's not essential but you should definitely go check it out!

The premise goes like this: Loki, seeking to further reassure Coulson's team of Jemma's happiness and safety with him on Asgard, invites them for a visit. Coulson, May, Fitz and Skye agree to go along.

_Wow, travel via Bifrost was really trippy_. Skye stumbled a few steps before recovering herself, and at that she did a lot better than Fitz who face-planted heavily. Thor hauled the engineer to his feet with a jovial laugh.

"Welcome to Asgard, my friends!"

_It's very… shiny_, Skye thought. Everything in view appeared to be made of gold, including the armour of the giant currently pulling a massive sword out of the mechanism in the middle of the chamber. Is that _clockwork_? She glanced at Fitz, whose eyes were just about hanging out of his head.

May was watching the golden-armoured giant, as always watchful when someone was armed in her presence. He caught her looking and inclined his head slowly, moving to stand with the sword point-down on the ground at a sort of parade rest. That must be Heimdall, Skye realised.

"Come," Thor said cheerfully, "let us to the city, I know Lady Jemma is eager to see you again!"

Skye couldn't help but gasp at the beauty of the city before them. It seemed a long way away, though. Were they expected to walk? And then, coming fast along the Rainbow Bridge, she saw galloping horses, two with riders and the rest without.

"Oh _no_," she said out loud, but was drowned out by the voices of the others, exclaiming in delight as they saw that one of the riders was Sif. The warrior maiden swung down off her horse and greeted them all enthusiastically. Skye sidled backwards, her eyes wide. _Horses_. _Oh God no_. She had a total phobia of the monsters. And the others all obviously didn't, happily accepting reins and swinging up into saddles, even Coulson in his dapper suit managing to make it look completely natural.

"M'lady?" she looked up to see that the other rider had dismounted and was standing before her, offering the reins of the last riderless horse. "Your mount?"

Throat closed with terror, she could only shake her head, eyes wide with panic.

"Can't you ride, Skye?" Fitz called.

"No. Nonononono."

The rider looked at her for a moment, and then reached up and removed the silver helm he was wearing, revealing a short mop of blond hair and lovely greenish-gold eyes in an exceptionally handsome face with a short blond beard. "Go on, Thor," he turned and tossed the reins of the riderless horse at Sif, who caught them. "I will bring the lady."

Skye pressed herself back against the wall, staring with terror as the other horses thundered away – leaving only the blond man and his own mount, a huge black beast standing quietly at his shoulder.

The rider surprised her then by dropping to one knee with a clank of his armour. "M'lady, I swear on my honour that no harm will come to you. My horse is sure-footed, and if you permit it I will hold you so that you do not fall."

"I'm scared," she whispered.

"I understand." He gave her an understanding smile. "We all have fears, do we not?" He grinned and said confidingly "I do not like spiders. Especially ones with hairy legs."

That made Skye choke out a laugh, and he smiled, encouraged. "I am Fandral, m'lady."

"Oh, the one Thor calls the Dashing? One of the Warriors Three?"

"Dashing is entirely a matter of opinion, m'lady." He winked.

"Ah, like that, is it? I'm Skye."

"The boon companion of Lady Jemma! I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Lady Skye." He took her hand gently in his armoured glove and lifted it to his lips.

Skye had never had her hand kissed before. She didn't expect to feel as though she'd been struck by lightning as his warm lips brushed her knuckles.

"Aieee!" she let out a pained squeal, snatching her hand away.

"By Odin's beard!" Fandral clapped his other hand to his mouth.

"What the hell!" Skye stared at her hand, at the golden runes etching themselves – painfully! – in under her skin, like a strangely metallic tattoo. "What did you _do_ to me?"

He lowered his hand and she saw a light blue rune had formed right in the middle of his upper lip. "I fear the question is, what have we done to each other, my lady!"

A strange noise behind Skye made her turn, and she saw Heimdall – _laughing_?

"Eh, Fandral, caught out by your own charm! No other woman would have you now, not with your soulmate's mark right there on your mouth; you'll be kissing no more maidens!"

"_What_?" Skye stared from Heimdall to Fandral in astonishment.

"That," Heimdall told her, pointing at Fandral's mouth, "is the Asgardian rune for _sky_ – Lady Skye."

"Wait. What? _Soulmates_?"

"Apparently." Fandral came to his feet, and she realised just how tall he was, nearly matching Thor in height, towering over her. He looked directly at Heimdall. "I'm not complaining. You know how long I've waited."

Heimdall inclined his head and went back into the chamber, leaving them alone. Fandral looked down at Skye. "We must go on to the city, Lady Skye. There will be time enough there for us to learn of each other."

She smiled a little shyly. And then remembered the damned horse. Fandral, seeing her eyes widen as she looked past him, turned and let out a low whistle.

Skye stared in amazement as the huge black steed dipped its muzzle to the ground and went to its knees.

"Here," Fandral's voice was suddenly warm in her ear, his mailed hands firm on her waist as he set her before the saddle and seated himself behind her, pulling her into his lap. "I will _never_ let you fall, my lady."

Somehow, enfolded in his armoured clasp, his short beard brushing her brow as they galloped towards the city, Skye forgot to be afraid.

And so begins the tale of Fandral the Faithful and his Sky-maiden, heroes of Asgard and beyond…

**987 words.**

**I've gone all medieval. I think it's the armour…**


	50. Don't Call Me Babe (Skye & Pyro)

**Don't Call Me Babe**

_Skye/Pyro_

PyroQuake

Disclaimer: Marvel own all characters in this fic.

**Theme Song:**

**The Doors – Light My Fire**

**Note: I've used the image of Aaron Stanford, who played Pyro in a couple of X-Men movies, to make the Ao3 manip. That said, comic-Pyro is Australian. I personally think Ryan Kwantein would be better casting! Anyway, I've written my Pyro in as an Aussie – just because my adopted countrymen do say such fantastic things…**

"I'm not going back, mate." Pyro said calmly, facing the ring of armed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. "Not to that prison. I never committed any crime."

"We know," the oldest agent said. "It was wrong, John, for you to be locked up pre-emptively just because you _might_ be dangerous to someone. I'm Phil Coulson, the Director now, and you have my word it won't happen again. The Fridge no longer _exists_, anyway."

"In that case," he swept an arm around, indicating the guns, "why all the firepower?"

Coulson actually smiled. "_You're_ the one with the firepower here, John, we both know that. We're here because we heard reports of strange fires in the desert. Where there's nothing to burn." He gestured at the bare sand around them.

"No one to hurt here, either. Stop calling me John."

"Do you prefer Mr Allerdyce? Or should I call you Pyro?"

"Pyro will do. It's what I am." He clicked the Zippo lighter in his fingers, flipping it open and closed, open and closed, though he didn't light it. "What do you want, Coulson, if it's not to cage me up again?"

"We don't do that. Not anymore. You must have heard about HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D…."

"One and the same, the way I heard it, mate." Pyro smiled cockily.

Skye found her finger tightening on the trigger. _Damn_, but he was an irritating bastard, the tall fair-haired man with the Australian accent. Good-looking, she had to concede. And fearless, even in the face of the ICER guns she, May, Bobbi, Hunter and Coulson were pointing in his direction, he seemed more angry than afraid.

"Perhaps they were," Phil said coolly, "but no more. S.H.I.E.L.D. is closely affiliated with the Avengers – we don't lock up people with super-normal abilities, Pyro. We _ally_ with them. Work with them. One of the people in this circle, other than you, has abilities…"

"What?" suddenly the Zippo was lit, only a small flame in the gathering desert twilight, but deeply threatening considering the abilities Pyro was reputed to possess. He whirled, taking a good look at each of them, pausing for a long moment at Skye. "It's you, isn't it? You have the look…" the flame in his hand flared up.

Hunter pulled the trigger, even as Skye said; "What look?"

"What?" Hunter said when they all stared at him. "I didn't want to make any closer acquaintance with his personal flamethrower, thanks very much."

No chance of that right now. ICER rounds were apparently effective on this particular super-human. Pyro was flat on his back, utterly still.

May pocketed the Zippo. "Let's get him back to the Bus."

"Sir," Skye muttered to Coulson as they headed back, Pyro cuffed and dumped into the rear of the SUV, "he said my soulmark words."

Coulson then did something that Skye had very rarely heard him do.

"_Fuck_."

"Sir!"

Back at the Bus, Hunter and Mack hauled Pyro to the Cage and dumped him on the thin mattress. Coulson checked his watch, looked at Skye and sighed. "He'll be coming around any minute. You'd better stay – but he's going to be really pissed off when he wakes."

"All the more reason for me to stay close, then," Skye reasoned. She'd not been able to stop staring at Pyro ever since he said the words. He was about her own age, attractive in an intense sort of way. She'd not been able to see what colour his eyes were before.

_Oh. They were blue_… as they snapped open and he glared at her, rolling upright quickly, wrenching at the cuffs holding his hands behind his back before letting out an almost animal howl of rage.

"Coulson!" his eyes settled on the lying bastard. "You said you weren't going to take me back!"

"We're not," Coulson held his hands up in a pacifying gesture. "Skye, take the cuffs off him. John – Pyro – please, hear me out."

The pretty sheila was unfastening the cuffs. He considered grabbing the gun holstered on her thigh, but the look she gave him made him reconsider. "I'm listening," he said to Coulson.

"Pyro, I truly believe you are meant to join us, now. Skye's your soulmate."

"Pull the other one mate!" John looked disbelievingly back at the sheila. She looked away, a sudden expression of hurt on her face, before murmuring;

"Do you remember what you said before Hunter shot you?" When he frowned, she said "You said _It's you, isn't it? You have the look_, and then I said _What look_?"

His hand shot to his chest, just below his heart, though he looked angrily disbelieving. "You could have looked at mine. Show me yours. I want to see."

Skye hesitated, glanced at Coulson. "Would you mind turning your back, sir?"

Coulson frowned. "You don't have to show him…"

"I'd rather not get off on the wrong foot with my soulmate doubting everything I say," Skye said, her eyes boring into John's. He had the grace to look a little ashamed, though as Coulson sighed and turned his back, he looked at her intently again.

"Don't be getting any ideas now," Skye warned as she unfastened her belt, unzipped her pants. Carefully she folded back one flap, away towards her right hip.

John stared at the smooth pale skin revealed, fighting not to lick his lips. The feisty sheila would probably smack his head in. But hot _damn_…

…oh, that was definitely his writing.

"You _are_ my soulmate," he said in surprise.

Skye fastened her clothes again, slightly flushed at the look he'd given her, a warm, appreciative stare. "Don't think that gives you any special privileges."

"Wouldn't dream of it, babe."

"And don't call me babe!" _Figures. My soulmate's an ass._

"You'll get used to me. I grow on people," John said, grinning at his soulmate's expression, guessing pretty accurately what she was thinking.

"Like mould," Skye muttered. He grinned and blew her a kiss.

_Dammit. I'm totally gonna fall for the cocky little shit._

**998 words.**

**Cocky little shit. Gotta love him though. Pyro's definitely one of those bad boys you can't quite help falling for.**

**The Poll is still open and there are still 91 options to choose from. About half of those have achieved the 15-vote status which means I will write them - eventually. So if you didn't vote yet, get on over and pick out (10) that you want to see!**

**If you don't know where to find the Poll, click on my name (ozhawk) to go to my Author Profile. The Vote Now link is at the top of the page.**


	51. An Offer I Can't Refuse (Skye & Rhodey)

**An Offer I Can't Refuse**

_Skye/Rhodey_

QuakeMachine

**Theme Song:**

**AC/DC – You Shook Me All Night Long**

"And this," Stark said, "is my best buddy, the legend of the Air Force, War Machine!"

Skye resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Stark was a maniac; the introductions had been getting steadily more extravagant. And yes, he did have some cause, she had to admit. But he was introducing the Avengers to people they were going to be working with, not some audience of thousands. Could he not even be bothered to say the poor guy's _name_?

"Colonel James Rhodes, sir," the tall, good-looking black guy said, shaking Coulson's hand. "Good to meet you, I've heard a lot about you." He rolled his eyes at Stark too, Skye saw, and had to suppress a giggle. Well, at least _this_ flyboy wasn't _quite_ such a maniac.

"Likewise," Coulson said politely, and respectfully. He'd mentioned to the team that the only reason Rhodes wasn't on the original team instead of Stark was that the armour was Stark's creation and they needed him to maintain it. Rhodes was far more stable and trustworthy.

He gave off that vibe, Skye thought, as he worked his way around the S.H.I.E.L.D. team, speaking politely to each of them in turn as only Rogers and Banner had bothered to do thus far. Steady, calm, the kind of man you could put your trust in and know that he'd come through. Perhaps that was why Stark liked him so much – he was a rock in Stark's otherwise shifting world. When Rhodes got to her – the last one in the group – she held out her hand with a true smile.

"Sir, it's a genuine honour to meet you."

He paused, and then took her hand in a warm, firm grip, looking at her curiously from intense dark eyes. He seemed to consider for a long moment what to say, and then he rumbled;

"It's a true delight to meet you too, ma'am."

The beautiful young – _very_ young – woman started back, her hand dropping from his and her eyes going wide.

"Good God," Rhodey said, completely shocked. "I am – so sorry." He spared a moment to be grateful that Tony was declaiming about something and nobody was looking at them – except Hawkeye, who was always watching _everything_, and was eyeing them curiously.

"Why?" The young woman – Agent Skye, he thought her name was – cocked her head at him.

"Sweetheart, I must be nearly twice your age, you can't want an old man like me!" he shook his head a little regretfully – she was, after all, very beautiful and he was only human. "It's okay. I'm not going to push myself on you. We'll just be friends, okay?"

That hurt. That really, _really_ hurt. Even her soulmate didn't want her. Skye's eyes filled with tears, though she fought hard not to let them fall. "If that's what you want," she choked out, turning away. She needed somewhere private. Somewhere that no one would see her cry. She stumbled blindly toward the doors that led out to the rooftop helipad.

"Did you seriously just tell your soulmate that you don't want her?" Barton said incredulously in Rhodey's ear as he watched Skye walk away. He twitched – _dammit_, he never could catch the archer moving, the bloody man needed a bell on him – and turned around.

"No!"

"Because it sure looked like it, you fucking idiot. Get out there before she throws herself off the roof."

"_What_?" he spun back round, and Skye was indeed walking towards the edge of the roof. "Oh hell no!" he bolted towards the doors. "_JARVIIIIIIS_!"

The AI was smart enough to figure out what he needed, and the armour was forming around his body as he bolted out onto the roof. He caught up with Skye as she put her hands on the edge of the low wall surrounding the terrace, snatched her off her feet and rocketed up into the sky.

Even Tony was open-mouthed as he stared out at War Machine taking off into the sky with the pretty young agent.

"What the fuck just happened?" came from half a dozen throats.

"Rhodey just found his soulmate," Clint said smugly. "I think they want to be alone." Of course the girl hadn't really been going to throw herself off the roof – but at least the thought had given Rhodey the push he needed. He winked at Natasha, who rolled her eyes at him and sighed.

Skye wasn't particularly enamoured of the idea of turning into a smear on the pavement, so she didn't bother to struggle or scream as they rocketed across the city. They landed after a few minutes on an island – well, a rock – in what she thought was Long Island Sound. As soon as he set her down, she spun around and whacked him hard on the chest, without really thinking what that would mean.

"Owwww!"

"Are you all right?" Rhodey flipped his faceplate up and reached for her hand in concern.

"Yes, you fucking maniac! What the hell was _that_ about? First you tell me you don't want me and then you interrupt me having a perfectly good cry about it and kidnap me in some insane dramatic gesture…"

She _wasn't_ planning to throw herself off the roof.

_Well, this is embarrassing – I'm never going to tell her I thought that…_

"I changed my mind?" Rhodey offered a little weakly. _She was crying because she thought I didn't want her_… "Skye, it's not that I don't want you, don't ever think that. I just – I'm too old for you."

He looked utterly magnificent in the silver armour of War Machine. Skye licked her lips.

"Haven't you ever heard the saying _you're only as old as the woman you feel_? Get out of that armour and I'll prove the theory."

He stared at her open-mouthed until she jumped dextrously up, wrapped her legs around his armoured torso and kissed him thoroughly.

"That – sounds like an offer I can't refuse," Rhodey said hoarsely when she finally let go.

**997 words.**

**God, Rhodey would be good for Skye, wouldn't he? Yes, he's a lot older than her, but he really does give off that steady-rock vibe. She'd never have to worry about him letting her down.**

**Just doing a little happy dance because that is now 50 of the Shorts written! I would love to hear which was your favourite so far. Was it already your OTP or was it an unexpected new ship?**


	52. I Like The Way You Think (SteveBuckySif)

**I Like The Way You Think**

_Steve/Bucky/Sif_

Stuckif (?)

**Theme song:**

**Spin Doctors – Two Princes**

**I completely rewrote this Short after building the manip of the three characters to put up on Ao3. I couldn't help myself. The story virtually wrote itself. Giving myself 1500 words to get it written, since there's three of them…**

"You fight well, Captain!" the fierce warrior-maiden shouted, decapitating the head of the beast which had just been about to try and bite Steve's head off, "if a little too defensively!"

"She's not wrong there, punk," Bucky yelled, giving him a hand up and offering one of his multitude of guns.

Steve sighed and took it. Bucky was right, as usual. Sometimes getting in close was a seriously bad idea. Especially since one of the stupid monster-beasts Loki had summoned up had _swallowed_ his damn _shield_. He was going to have to figure out how to get it back somehow, and preferably not by making like Jonah.

"She's fuckin' awesome," Bucky shouted, firing off a couple of shots. "Look at that chick go!"

"That's the Lady Sif, not a _chick_," Steve shouted back, shooting one of the flying beasties out of the sky and agilely leaping away from the falling corpse. "Thor'll smash your head in if you don't speak of her with respect, so watch your mouth!"

"She'd probably do it herself, _look at her_, Steve!"

Unwillingly, Steve glanced across. Sif had turned up to summon Thor and the other Avengers to assist in the fight, and stayed to help. And for a girl with a sword, she was one helluva fighter, he had to admit. He hadn't seen a dame kick ass like that since – well, _since never_, he silently admitted to himself. Even Natasha wasn't that badass, not that he would dare say that to her face. Sif came belting back towards them now, sword dripping blood, and looked up at both of them with a wide, cheerful grin.

"You are both uninjured? Good! Come with me, I think there may be more of the monsters this way."

Almost casually, as they walked past one of the fallen monsters, Sif paused and swiped her sword along its belly. Steve's shield spilled out, along with a pile of reeking monster guts. "You might want that, Captain."

"I like her, she's got style," Bucky said admiringly. Sif flashed him another one of those toothy grins.

"You don't do so badly yourself, warrior."

"Call me Bucky."

The smile turned more genuine, and she looked at him appreciatively, running her eyes boldly up and down his body. "I shall do that, and you may call me Sif."

"Buck, what are you doing?" Steve hissed, scandalised, shaking the monster guts off his shield with a grimace. "Not that she's not stunning, but…"

"Come on, Stevie, you can't tell me that you wouldn't love to put your hands all over that," Bucky muttered back as they followed Sif through the thick undergrowth. "I love you an' all, but…"

Steve didn't reply, because Bucky was right. They both liked women too. It was an unspoken desire between the two of them to find a woman who could somehow accept them both, even though she couldn't be their soulmate. If Steve didn't know better he'd say that the pair of them were missing a third, that they should be part of a triad. Both of them had their soulmate words written in a circle – and to both of them it felt as though the centre was an empty space that needed to be filled.

Sif _was_ beautiful, Steve acknowledged silently, knowing that Bucky hadn't missed the way he'd been eyeing the warrior-maid. Tall, with dark wavy hair tumbling down her back, she looked as though she was born to wear armour, born to wield that sword. She might even be physically strong enough to handle both him and Buck, being Asgardian.

Steve shook his head, trying to clear it of the suddenly filthy fantasies filling it, glared at Bucky. "Stop it. It's not going to happen."

"What's not going to happen?" Sif could hear them both clearly, although they probably thought they were talking too quietly for her to hear. They both stared at her wide-eyed, stopping in their tracks. She turned fully to face them, cocking her head.

Something wasn't right here. They were soulmates, but… Sif concentrated, and her vision slid _sideways_ in a way she'd never quite been able to define…

She could _see_ the soulbond shimmering between them when she looked at them this way, a beautiful thing, woven of golden light – and with far too many missing threads. "What is wrong with it?" she asked, puzzled.

"What's wrong with what?" Steve stared at her. She seemed to be staring at the space between him and Bucky.

"It's beautiful, but it's not complete." Sif felt strangely drawn to the damaged golden web. She walked towards it, sheathing her sword, holding her hands out. "Where is your third?"

"We don't have a third," Bucky said, astonished. "What – can you _see_ our soulbond?"

"So many parts missing, so much strain," Sif whispered, her silvery eyes glowing slightly. It was the only tiny bit of magic she had, this gift of Seeing soulbonds when she chose to. Her hands came up, plucked at one shimmering thread – and both Bucky and Steve cried out. Suddenly, the soulbond was filling in, a thick net of silver and golden threads, spinning in a vortex around all three of them. Runes began to trace themselves in over the backs of Sif's uplifted hands, and both Steve and Bucky shouted with pain as the hollow space in the circle of their soulmark words filled in.

All three of them were on their knees when it stopped, Sif breathing raggedly as the Sight left her. She lifted her head and found two pairs of incredulous blue eyes staring at her.

"_You're_ our third," Bucky found his voice first.

"So it would seem," Sif pushed herself to her feet, did not protest when they both reached for her. She'd been thinking since she first laid eyes on them how magnificent they were, both large men, powerful and dangerous warriors, had even considered inviting them to her bed for a night until she realised they were soulmated to each other and regretfully dismissed the idea. Now – well, she could have far more than one night.

"You're beautiful," that was Steve, looking at her shyly, taking one of her hands in his and examining the runes now etched across the back of it.

"Ours," that was Bucky, more forward, one hand settling in the small of her back as he moved closer, the other lifting a lock of her dark hair between his fingers and stroking it gently.

Sif smiled. The Fates had favoured her indeed. A roar broke her happy contemplation of the pleasures she would surely find in her soulmates' arms, though, and she frowned.

"This battle is not over yet, my consorts. There are more of these foul beasts yet to dispatch."

"Yes," Steve agreed, letting go of her hand reluctantly. "We'd better get that dealt with. What's your plan, Sif?"

"Kill them all," Sif said, "then we go and have victorious celebratory sex!" She smiled, showing her teeth again, and drew her sword.

"I like the way you think," Bucky said admiringly.

"Oh God help me," Steve sighed dismally, realised they were both looking at him disappointedly, and backpedalled hastily. "Not about the, uh, sex part. That sounds good. That sounds – really good."

"Then let's get the killing out of the way!" Sif reached up, hooked a hand around Steve's neck and kissed him quickly. "A promise for later, Captain!"

"She's even worse than you," Steve said to Bucky after he got his breath back.

Bucky only grinned at him before bolting after Sif yelling; "Hey, don't I get a kiss too?"

**1263 words.**

**I'm sure you'll get more than just a kiss, Bucky.**

**By request, I've now completed an index to this fic. You can find it back in Chapter 1, with the introduction. It lists the pairings by chapter number. I understand the chapter titles don't show up if reading on a phone so hopefully this will make your favourites easier to find. I've included sequels, written and unwritten – and you'll see that there's still plenty of pairings that could do with sequels, so if you'd like to write one, get in touch…**


	53. The Brute Squad (Skye & Colossus)

**The Brute Squad**

_Skye/Colossus_

ColossalQuake?

**Theme song:**

**Elton John – Tiny Dancer**

This one occurs later in the same 'verse as May/Wolverine. Some of Logan's friends occasionally turn up to lend a hand…

"Wolvie," Skye said, peering through her binoculars, "you know I love ya, right?"

"You know I'll surgically remove your spine without anaesthetic if you call me Wolvie again, right?" Logan responded rhetorically. He was lying between his soulmate and her young protégée on a hilltop overlooking a HYDRA base.

Skye took her gaze away from the eyepieces and gave him a cheeky grin. Logan smiled ruefully. He was coming to understand just why this young woman was so central to her team, why Melinda thought so well of her.

"Yeah, yeah, you're all bark and no bite. You did say some of your buddies might be showing up for this fight, yeah?" Skye took one more look through the binoculars before starting to wriggle backwards down the hill. Logan and May followed suit, and soon they were standing in the shadows of the trees, well out of sight of the base. "Because seriously there's a small army down there and I think they might be a bit well-armed for even you to take on alone. And since Coulson doesn't want me to shake the place down, we might be a _tad_ under-manned."

"It'll be fine," Logan said. "Xavier's busy but he's sent us a couple of the heavy hitters."

"A _couple_!" Skye's voice went up to a near-squawk, and both Logan and May hushed her hastily, fearful of the sound carrying on the night air. "We need more than a couple, we need the Brute Squad!"

Logan's eyes slid up and past her, and he grinned. "Well, at least we got Piotr."

Skye wheeled, looking up – and up – and up some more at the man who'd quietly walked up behind her. He was about six foot eight and about four feet across the shoulders, a veritable giant who would have been terrifying if he wasn't standing there with a calm smile across his face.

"Oh," she said after a stunned moment of silence, "You _are_ the Brute Squad."

An expression of slow astonishment dawned across his face – a very attractive face – and Skye wondered if he was a bit simple-minded. Until he said in a deep voice with a faintly Russian accent; "It's surprising, but no one has ever called me that before."

"Really, even I get the reference, I'd have thought it would be an obvious one!" Logan let out a chuckle, and suddenly realised Melinda was tugging at his arm. "What?" he blinked, and realised the Skye was staring up at Piotr with her mouth open.

"Soulmate," May whispered in Logan's ear. "Those words are on Skye's stomach."

"Ohhhh." Logan looked from the slender, delicate Skye to the man-mountain gazing down at her. He checked May's watch. "I suppose we could give them five minutes?"

"I'll give _you_ five minutes. Come here." She arched her eyebrows at him, and he very willingly followed her behind a nearby tree. May could make five minutes pass _very_ entertainingly.

"Are _you_ my soulmate?" Skye said wonderingly.

"It would seem so." A huge hand lifted, cupped her cheek wonderingly.

"I really am going to have to climb you like a tree."

Piotr suppressed a choke of laughter. She was lovely, this small woman, feisty and strong. "I could lift you," he suggested. She was over a foot short of his height, the top of her head not even reaching his shoulder.

"Why don't you do that? Because we're going to have to start this fight in a minute and I'm not going to go down there without a kiss from you."

He gathered her easily in one massive arm, lifting her off her feet as though she weighed no more than a feather. The other hand slid into her hair, tilting her head at just the right angle for his mouth.

"Good enough?" Piotr said breathlessly a couple of minutes later.

"Um," Skye mumbled, her small hands still locked onto those massive shoulders. "I – think we might have to try again to be sure?"

"I can do that." He eagerly brought his mouth back to hers.

"Knock it off, you too, time to go," Logan strode past them, May following him, both of them smoothing their clothes.

Piotr let out a grumpy sound and reluctantly set his soulmate on her feet – before blushing as he realised he didn't even know her name! Taking her small hand in his huge one, he followed after the others, leaning down to murmur;

"That was forward of me – I didn't even ask your name. I'm Piotr Rasputin, by the way – my code name is Colossus."

"Yes, I can see why," Skye slid her eyes up him. He was easily the biggest man she'd even met, would tower even over Mack. "Skye. My name is Skye." She pulled her hand out of his, knelt down and put both hands on the ground. "They call me Quake." The plan called for her to start some gentle earth tremors under the base, hopefully setting the base personnel running around like confused ants. "Ready?"

Before her astonished eyes, Piotr grew even taller, his skin shimmering metallically.

"_This_ is why they call me Colossus," he rumbled, and one steely finger brushed Skye's cheek as he stooped briefly beside her. "I'll be back."

And he was gone, striding towards the distant base, Wolverine running at his side to keep up with his giant steps.

"Did he seriously just quote the Terminator at me?" Skye said disbelievingly.

"Shut up and make the earth move, Skye. Which is a point. You're not bringing him back to base any time soon. We need the Playground pretty much intact."

Skye couldn't help but giggle at the deliberate innuendo in May's words, and as a consequence the earth tremors that began a few moments later had a strange, hiccupping rhythm to them.

Piotr, currently busy pushing down walls, didn't care. As long as the ground shook beneath his feet, his soulmate was safe. He smiled to himself. He'd make sure her feet didn't touch the ground later.

**1000 words exactly – and I didn't even have to cut it.**

**While not a sequel, LadyWinterlight has written a Skye/Colossus Soulmates story inspired by this one – she's written the awesome sequel to Steve/Skye/Bucky too. So get on over and check out **_**I Wasn't Expecting This Today**_**, and please leave her a comment!**


	54. If I Had A Dollar (Skye & Angel)

**If I Had A Dollar…**

_Skye/Angel_

SkyAngel?

_Theme song:_

_Foo Fighters – Learn To Fly_

Just a note: Angel's real name is Warren Worthington III and he's heir, and later owner, of a Fortune 500 company. In this version, he's concealing what he really is from pretty much everybody.

"How do you know it's not a trap?"

"I don't. That's why I brought you."

"Phiiiil," Skye whined. "Come on, you gotta tell me _something_."

"You know plenty about Warren Worthington III. I saw you and Jemma sighing over that magazine where he took over Tony Stark's title for Most Eligible Bachelor, now Stark's off the market."

Skye blushed slightly. "Yeah, yeah, billionaire playboy philanthropist and all that. What I don't get is why _you're_ interested in him."

"His name was on a list Fury left me in the Toybox. As a possible source of 'black' funding for the new S.H.I.E.L.D., and no I _don't_ know why that might be. I _do_ know he agreed to meet and he said it had to be here and that I could bring one person only with me. As much as I was tempted to bring May because she doesn't _talk so much_," Phil gave Skye a meaningful look, "realistically _you're_ the most dangerous person on the team these days."

"Just seems like a really weird-ass place for a successful businessman to want to meet," Skye grumbled quietly as they walked down into the small valley. It was a pretty place, she had to admit, a shallow grassy bowl with a small stream burbling through the middle of it. The tall, blond man standing by the stream looked thoroughly out of place in his expensive business suit.

"Mr Coulson." Worthington stepped forward, held out a manicured hand. Hard blue eyes raked once over Skye and clearly dismissed her as unimportant.

"Mr Worthington. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me." Phil heard Skye's teeth grind and hoped she wouldn't lose her temper.

_What an asshole. He might be gorgeous, and more broad-shouldered than I expected, and wow he could cut glass with those cheekbones_… Skye shook herself, irritated. _He's an asshole, no matter how pretty he is._

_He sure is pretty, though – oh what the hell, there's no law against looking_.

Phil hoped he was concealing his irritation a lot better than Skye was. She was practically glaring a hole through Worthington. The guy was being arrogant, though, and very evasive in his answers. Only the mention of Fury's name got a reaction out of him, broad shoulders shifting uncomfortably under his suit jacket.

"Fury and I had an agreement," Warren said coldly, feeling a sudden panic rising in him. _Shit, who else did Fury tell?_ Did this innocuous-looking man _know_ about him? Was this some sort of attempt at extortion? He glanced at the girl, who hadn't stopped staring at him. She was pretty enough that at any other time he might have felt flattered. Looked back at Coulson.

"I'm not privy to whatever agreement you had with Fury," Phil said, wearying of Worthington's evasiveness. "I'm the new Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., but we're now a black operation and we don't have funding. Your name was top of the list Fury left me of people who might be willing to help. That's the reason I called. That's the _only_ reason I called."

The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Warren could still feel that cold shiver down his back, feel his wings trying to tremble, escape from their confinement. He didn't dare turn his back on them for fear that the two agents would see the odd movements under his clothes.

"I'm sorry you've had a wasted trip," he said finally. _I can't risk anyone else learning my secret_…

Skye lost her tenuous grip on her temper. The ground shook beneath their feet, Coulson stumbled and would have fallen if she hadn't grabbed his arm, and Worthington…

Worthington rose off the ground, propelled by enormous white wings that had literally _torn_ free from his clothes, shredding his expensive shirt and suit coat.

The ground stopped shaking. Warren settled back to his feet with a sigh, taking in the open-mouthed, astonished expressions of Coulson and his companion.

"Well, fuck, you didn't know after all," he said to Coulson.

"Are you an angel?" Skye asked a bit dumbly, utterly stunned by those wings. They had to be nearly twenty feet across.

"If I had a dollar for every time I've heard that…" _well, I wouldn't be all that much richer than I am now. And I still wouldn't have my soulmate._

"Those are my soulmark words!" Skye said in surprise.

"They what?" he blinked. He was just about to demand _Show me_, but realised she probably already thought he was an arrogant ass. He turned instead, flicking his wings up so he didn't whack her with them, showing her the cliché written between his shoulder blades. _Are you an angel?_ "Is this your writing?"

Gentle fingers brushed his skin – and the delicate feathers that grew around the words. Warren shuddered with sudden shock. _Oh my God that's an erogenous zone. No one ever touched me there before_…

"It's my writing," Skye said quietly. She looked at Phil.

"I'll be in the car."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean… did that hurt?" she couldn't help but touch the downy feathers again as Phil walked hurriedly away. They were unbelievably soft.

"N-no," he stuttered. "Not hurt. Ahhh!" he had to turn around, even though she might look down and see how aroused he was, because if she touched him there again he was going to do something very embarrassing like stain his pants. He was already going to have to find another shirt from somewhere. Pants might be trickier.

His wings folded around Skye as he turned and reached to take her hands in his. They were incredibly soft.

"We got off to a bad start. Won't you tell me your name?" Warren asked quietly.

"Skye," she smiled up at him wonderingly.

He smiled crookedly. "How appropriate. The sky's my favourite place to be."

She couldn't help but laugh as his wings gathered her closer, his head tilting down towards hers. "I think I'm going to like flying when it's with you."

**998 words.**

**I'd very much like to fly away with Ben Foster (the actor who played Angel) too, thanks. Yummy.**


	55. The Only Exception (Natasha & Jemma)

**The Only Exception**

_Natasha/Jemma_

BlackScientist

**Theme Song:**

**Paramore – The Only Exception**

**This one fits in after the Skye/Bucky/Clint triad – and yes, after the very dirty weekend written in the sequel **_**Are You Two…?**_** Not much later in the timeline though, perhaps only a few weeks. Skye's spending more time with the Avengers these days rather than Coulson's team, and the two teams really haven't properly met yet since they're all rather busy. That's about to change, though, as Skye is on her way to the Playground with Clint, Bucky, Bruce and Nat. The only problem is, someone else has found the place too and has been waiting for Skye to make an appearance…**

**Warning: Sex pollen ahead… ;)**

"And this has been home, for the last few months." Skye walked towards the Playground's rear door, her soulmates on either side of her, Natasha and Bruce just behind. "It's an old SSR base, used to be Peggy Carter's headquarters…" she was reaching to input the code when there was an odd metallic _plink_ behind them.

"What was that?" All alert for danger, they spun, hands dropping to guns, Clint stepping apart from the rest of them to jerk his ever-present bow off his shoulder and draw an arrow.

A tiny, innocuous-looking metal sphere lay on the ground, just beyond Bruce's foot. And even as they looked at it, it exploded in a soft puff of white smoke.

In the distance, Skye glimpsed a tall, dark figure. "It's Ward!" she shouted, starting forward. Bucky grabbed her arms, holding her back.

"No, it's an ambush…"

"Worse than that," Natasha said. "We've all just been exposed to something." She traded a look with Bucky, nodded at Skye and Clint. "Those two are unenhanced, get them somewhere safe – don't take them inside in case it's contagious – you, me and Bruce should be all right..."

"I don't think so," Bruce said, and they all looked at him in alarm as his voice deepened to a rumbling roar. "RUN."

"Him, he's the one that did it!" Natasha pointed frantically in Ward's direction, trying to direct Bruce before the Hulk took over completely, and then the four of them took to their heels, fleeing around the side of the building as Hulk bounded after Ward – who obviously hadn't expected that to happen, because he spun around and ran like hell.

"Skye," Clint said hoarsely as they reached the rather dubious cover of a space between an old shipping container and the side of the building.

"Yes," she threw herself into his arms and he actually _dropped his bow _before they started kissing frantically, hands tearing at each other's clothes.

"What the fuck?" Bucky said in astonishment. "Guys, this really isn't the time or the place…"

"Shit, it's sex pollen!" Natasha started laughing. "Phew, I thought it was something serious! HYDRA developed it to distract," she told Bucky. "Kind of hard to fight back when all you're thinking about is fucking like rabbits. It won't work on you and me."

"You sure about that?" his eyes were fixed on his soulmates, his breathing coming faster. "Because I feel really weird…"

"Oh _no_," come to think of it, Natasha was starting to feel a bit strange herself. She sagged against the side of the container, averting her eyes as Bucky went to join Clint and Skye.

"What the hell is going on?"

_Oh thank God, Coulson._

"Sex pollen. New strain," she said hoarsely. "It works on me and Bucky…"

"Oooh, not good. Not good. Inside, come on," Coulson grabbed her arm, and she pushed him away with a snarl, trying to be gentle, but he still bounced off the wall with a pained grunt.

"Don't touch me! Leave those three, they'll be all right, but you need to get me into a cell or something…"

"Can you walk? I have a medic on site…"

"I'll probably kill him, just keep him away…"

"It's a woman."

"Well you'd better keep her away too unless she's willing oh God Coulson this is really not nice I feel really horrible now…" her skin was itching, feeling too tight for her body, as she staggered after him and down into a vault.

Coulson was muttering into a com he'd pulled from his pocket, and just as Natasha collapsed on the bed in the corner of the vault, tearing at her clothes, a pretty young woman in a white lab coat came dashing in.

"Sex pollen, Coulson? The best I can do is make her comfortable… oh," Jemma's eyes widened as she took in the beautiful redhead rapidly stripping her clothes off to reveal a spectacularly toned, yet curvaceous body. Jemma couldn't look away, even though she knew it was thoroughly wrong to ogle the woman like that when she was in this state. "Is that the _Black Widow_? I thought the serum-enhanced were immune…"

"New strain. Which probably means whatever you'd have used on her probably won't work anyway." Coulson winced at the thought.

Stark naked and totally unconcerned about it, Natasha turned to face them, her eyes fastening on Jemma.

"You got any toys?"

_Oh._

_Well, that explains why I didn't find my soulmate when I was five like I expected._

"I could probably do better than that," Jemma took a hesitant step forward. Natasha's eyes widened, and she moved forward too. Coulson coughed, looking away, his cheeks scarlet.

"Phil – I think she might be my soulmate."

"What?" Phil stared at Jemma. "I didn't know you…"

"Preferred women? Well now you do." Jemma unbuttoned her lab coat, never looking away from the Russian spy now standing as close as she could get to the invisible barrier down the centre of the vault. "Unless you want me to have to invent eye bleach for you, I suggest you get out now." She hit buttons on the console, switching the cameras off.

Phil fled. A definite mutter of "The Avengers are stealing my team" sounded as he rushed up the stairs.

"This is probably not the best way to start our soulmate relationship," Natasha said, trying desperately to remain calm.

"I can think of worse. I'm Jemma, by the way." Jemma finished removing her clothes.

"Call me Nat. And get in here. Please."

"I didn't think the Black Widow ever begged." Jemma pushed the button to drop the screen. Natasha was on her in a moment, almost dragging her towards the bed.

"For you? I'll make an exception."

**955 words.**

**Obviously, this isn't the more serious version of the sex pollen I've used in other fics, but one that basically just makes anyone exposed not care about anything other than actually having sex until it wears off.**


	56. Feels Like Magic (Jemma & Colossus)

**Feels Like Magic**

_Jemma/Colossus_

ColossalNerd. Because _obviously_.

**Theme Song:**

**Skid Row – Get The Fuck Out**

**So apparently Piotr was cute enough with Skye that you all wanted to see him with Jemma, because this jumped 10 places up the Poll pretty much immediately after I published **_**The Brute Squad**_**.**

**And for SuzzieSidle, I hope this one's something like what you were thinking of when you asked for socially awkward, swearing Jemma…**

"Fuck!" Coulson had given her _ten minutes_ to pick up medical supplies and that wasn't enough _time_. Jemma skidded around the corner, racing up the next aisle with her shopping cart – no, not this one either…

"Where the _fuck_ is the hydrogen peroxide?" she said aloud, swung the cart around the next corner and collided so hard with a man standing there that the cart fell on its side, spilling her carefully gathered supplies all over the floor.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!" she shouted, and fell to her knees, grabbing at the spilled packets. A huge shadow loomed over her and she looked up to see the man she'd crashed into – a _very long _way up.

"I'm sorry I crashed into you, are you all right?" she gabbled rather ungraciously.

He stooped and lifted the cart back to its wheels easily, squatted opposite her and started scooping up her fallen supplies with hands the size of shovels.

"I'm fine. You shouldn't swear so much." Dark brown eyes looked back into hers from a rather handsome face. He had a faint accent – _Russian_?

_Hot guy alert!_ Jemma swallowed nervously. "I try not to swear but sometimes it just comes out. My parents were very strict about it. Even my soulmate isn't going to like my swearing."

_Wait a minute…_

"Well, when you grow up with 'fuck' written five times on the palm of your right hand, it's a little off-putting." He held up said hand, broad palm towards her.

_Oh. My. God._

"That's my writing."

"Thought it might be." He tipped the last of the dropped supplies into the cart, stood up and offered that enormous hand to help her to her feet. "You're obviously in a hurry so I won't delay you – but could I possibly have your phone number? I'm Piotr, by the way."

"Jemma." Numbly, she let him take her hand, lift her easily to her feet. She had to tip her head back to look up at him, saw him smile as he took in the height discrepancy between them. "I'm only five foot four, how the hell did I end up paired with you?" Her brain to mouth filter had failed completely.

"I mean, you're seriously hot and yes I do have a weakness for big muscly guys…" He had to be six foot eight, and about four feet across the shoulders. Easily the biggest man she'd ever met, and there wasn't an ounce of fat on him, not from the way his jeans were clinging to his hips and lean thighs _oh God Jemma stop looking at his thighs_…

He was outright laughing at her, though trying to suppress the chuckles. "I'm glad to hear that. I have a weakness for pretty English girls with verbal diarrhoea."

She blushed. He was still holding her hand, her fingers tiny against his, resting over the row of swear words written on his palm. And _oh God, how embarrassing_, how was she going to tell her parents that they were right about her potty mouth after all?

"Your phone number?" Piotr prompted gently. His soulmate was staring up at him from wide hazel eyes, a blush tinting her pretty cheeks rosy pink.

"Oh!" she started. "I – don't think I should give it to you. I work for…" _what do I call SHIELD, these days? A secret crime-fighting organisation? A superhero support group? An anti-supervillain agency?_ _Not-HYDRA?_ "… the government?" it came out in a questioning tone, like the lie it was.

He cocked his head, looking at her. "You're not X, are you?"

"What?" she blinked in confusion.

"Jemma, what the _hell_, I said _ten minutes_…" Coulson came around the corner, saw her standing with Piotr and froze, eyes travelling up, his hand slipping inside his jacket.

"I know who _you_ are," Piotr said in tones of enlightenment. "Jemma works for you, Director?"

Coulson stilled, his hand obviously on his gun. "…Colossus?" he said after a moment.

"That's what they call me."

"Why are you holding Agent Simmons' hand?"

Piotr looked down at the dainty hand still clasped in his. She'd made no effort to pull away even when Coulson showed up. "Because she's my soulmate."

Jemma had never seen Phil look so shocked. Not even that one time when they'd all walked in on Hunter and Bobbi _doing it_ on the kitchen counter – well, the less said about that the better. Mack had used up the entire base supply of bleach before any of them would eat in there again.

"_You_. Are Jemma's. _Soulmate_?"

"Uh-huh." He traced a light pattern over the palm of Jemma's hand with his fingertips, making her shiver slightly. "Don't suppose SHIELD could use my particular brand of brute force?"

"Oh," Phil's grin was positively _predatory_, Jemma realised. He _definitely_ knew something about her soulmate that she didn't. "I think we could find a use for you."

Piotr told Jemma everything later – _much_ later – that night. Even turned his skin to metal for her, and laughed, the chuckle booming hollowly in his chest, when she knocked on it and hurt her knuckles.

"Owww!" She'd hit a little too hard. He shimmered back to normal – _acres_ of warm, lightly-tanned skin over smooth muscle – and took her hand in his, kissing her knuckles gently.

"Careful, Птичкамоя. Don't hurt yourself."

"But I want to know how it works!"

"Some things aren't meant to be understood, Jemma." He pressed a gentle finger to his words, written across the curve of her ribs. "Some things are just magic."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Magic's just a word for technology we don't understand yet."

"If you say so." He opened his marked palm over her ribs and they both felt the crackle of the soulbond, steadily strengthening between them. Already, he couldn't bear the thought of being without her. "Feels like magic to me, though."

She had no answer for that. Just put her arms around his neck and reached to kiss him again.

**Птичка** **моя – my little bird**

**998 words (excluding Russian translation)**

**After writing Steve/Bucky/Sif the other day, I've got slightly hung up on the idea of the soulbond being somewhat tangible. It's something I may explore further in later Shorts.**

**Hope you enjoyed this one, and don't forget the Poll is still open, though it's down for a couple of days as I have the Grant Ward Cluedo poll up for The Gambler at the moment ;)**


	57. Now I'm Hallucinating (Fitz & Natasha)

**Now I'm Hallucinating**

_Fitz/Natasha_

BlackEngineer or FitzTasha

**Theme song:**

**Georgia Satellites – Battleship Chains**

I'm sorry to those of you who wanted to see this pairing as the Fitz/Tony platonic follow-on. It didn't fit my plan. Hope you like this anyway!

Possible trigger warning: chaining, gagging, sexual fantasies and mention of the term spank bank. Don't say I didn't warn you.

_Surely this is what they do to the badasses? Why am I trussed up like a damn goose?_ Fitz couldn't help but wonder. Bad enough that he'd been captured, but apparently his captors were utterly paranoid as well, not to mention sadistic. He was chained up, thick cuffs locked around his wrists, his arms above his head, attached to another chain hanging from the ceiling. He could just about keep his feet flat on the floor, but his shoulders and elbows were wrenched agonisingly to the limits of the joints. Every now and then he raised up on tiptoes for a few moments, but it didn't really relieve the pressure. He couldn't even scream, because there was a rubber ball gag stuffed into his mouth, tied off behind his head.

_This is payment for your sins, Leopold Fitz_, he could almost hear his mother's voice in his head, and rolled his eyes. _Fantastic. Now I'm hallucinating_.

_If I'm hallucinating, can we get to the good bit of the fantasy?_ Because – well, he'd had this fantasy before. Or one awfully like it. Without the pain in his shoulders, and with a lot more sultry Russian spy.

"This is the place," Natasha whispered softly in Coulson's ear. "I know where they'll be holding him. I can get him out quietly."

Coulson eyed the base through his binoculars. The place was too big, too well manned to do it the noisy way. He nodded without looking at the Widow. "Please try to keep him alive, Natasha. I need him."

"I'll get him back for you. This is my specialty." Natasha touched light fingers to Coulson's shoulder and was gone, a silent ghost in the night.

_It certainly was her specialty_, Natasha mused as she slipped silently through the base, avoiding detection with ease. She _loved_ hostage rescue. Not that she ever got any payoff. Why couldn't there ever be a nice guy who'd be suitably grateful to be rescued by the Black Widow? But noooo, they were always either too traumatised at having to be rescued at all, or pissed at being rescued by a _girl_. She almost snorted.

There it was, the doorway to the prisoner containment area. Natasha stopped and tapped three times on her com in a prearranged signal.

_Ready._

The earth trembled slightly. Fitz had fallen into an exhausted, semi-somnolent state, but after a moment he lifted his head.

"Skye?" he said, or would have, if he'd been able to make any sound come out. The room was brightly lit, but there was no one in it. Until the door opened, and a lithe redhead in a black catsuit slipped in.

Fitz blinked. _Now I'm really hallucinating_.

_There he is._ The young engineer from Coulson's team, chained up in a horribly awkward stance. He blinked blue eyes at her vaguely.

"Do you know who I am? I'm here to get you out," Natasha whispered, darting quickly up to Fitz. "Don't make a sound – oh." _God, those sadists gagged him as well_.

"NNNN?" he said, eyes very wide.

"Sshh!" She pulled a knife, reached to cut the gag off. "I'll take this off but you have to be quiet!"

The ball gag slipped out of his mouth and Fitz let out a hiss of pain as his jaw muscles creaked. The Black Widow looked up at him sympathetically, sheathing her knife – wow, he'd never realised the gorgeous redhead was actually shorter than he was. She looked about six foot tall on TV. But in soft black pumps that made no sound on the concrete floor, she was only about five foot four.

"It's all right," Natasha touched his jaw gently. _Handsome lad_, she thought a bit irreverently, _nice face, with those lovely blue eyes_. She looked up at his chained hands, frowned slightly. "I'm going to have to climb you to get those chains undone. It'll hurt your shoulders even more, but there's nothing else for it." And she jumped up, wrapping slim legs around his torso.

_Oh. My. God._

Fitz held very still, his nose shoved deep into the Black Widow's cleavage, as she worked at the cuffs on his wrists with a lockpick.

_Hallucination or not, this is going to be my spank bank fantasy for the rest of my LIFE._

The cuffs came undone, and Fitz's arms dropped. He let out a pained groan Natasha felt through her body, buried in her chest as his face was, but he held still, his body straight, as she slid down him – until she hung up on a rather impressive erection.

_Oh dear God she knows I've popped a boner._

"That's an unusual reaction," Natasha quipped with surprise as she dropped lightly to the floor.

_Well – either she's gonna kill me now or this really is the best hallucination fantasy ever – maybe they gave me the gooood drugs. Either way I'm gonna say what I always say in these fantasies..._

"How can I ever thank you?" he rasped out, his mouth and throat sore from the gag.

_Huh_. Natasha cocked her head. Her soulmate words. The first time since they'd appeared on her hip twenty-eight years ago that someone had said them to her.

Leo Fitz looked to be about twenty-eight.

"Well," she said softly, "when we get out of here, I can think of a whole selection of ways you might like to say thank you. I could even tie you up and rescue you all over again, if you like."

_Oh dear God I'm going to come in my shorts if she keeps looking at me like that._

Natasha pushed her wonder – and rising lust – aside. "But right now, I have to get you out of here. Can you walk?"

"I'll follow you to Hell itself if I have to," Fitz said back fervently. _Especially if I get to watch that ass along the way…_

**979 words.**

**And all I have to say is Fitz, you sick little puppy.**

**I've now continued the Jemma/Rumlow Soulmate Short You Need To Trust Me, for those of you who loved that pair together - and for everyone who just loves a sexy bad guy redeeming himself!**


	58. I Want Your Blood (Jemma & Fandral)

**I Want Your Blood**

_Jemma/Fandral_

Jemdral (or maybe Dashing Biochemist?)

**Theme song:**

**The Eagles – How Long**

"Excuse me," a voice said at his elbow, and Fandral turned from watching Thor toasting the room full of Midgardian warriors to see a small, delicate lady standing at his elbow. She was pretty, he thought, with her pointed chin, wavy chestnut hair and large hazel eyes.

"Lady Jemma, is it not?" he bowed gallantly. "How may I serve?"

"Oh," Jemma blushed. The tall blond warrior Thor had called Fandral – the Dashing, and she could quite see why, he was obnoxiously gorgeous – had turned up with Thor and Sif earlier at an _extremely_ fortuitous moment and helped defeat the monsters that had been just about to overrun the Playground. A nasty gift from Lorelei, apparently, who was still pissed with Coulson's team and had escaped Asgard again. Fandral had killed the enchantress with a swing of the long sword now sheathed across his back, ending the battle.

Despite that, he was much less intimidating than Thor and Sif, with his ready smile and dancing eyes.

"I was wondering if I might ask a very large favour?"

"I should be honoured to undergo a quest for your favour, beautiful maiden!"

She was very young. And even prettier when she blushed. She giggled at his extravagant words, and then opened her mouth and said the very last thing he expected.

"I want your blood."

"_What_?" he stumbled back, hand going up to the hilt of his sword. Thor had _sworn_ that none of the Vampyrii yet existed on Midgard…

"That came out wrong!" Jemma panicked. "I'm a bio-scientist and I'm really fascinated by the differences between Asgardians and humans, I was wondering if I could possibly get a blood sample and I'm too scared to ask Thor or Sif…"

Fandral found himself laughing. She was adorable. "Of course, Lady Jemma. Lead the way."

Jemma nodded, leading him out of the common room and down to the lab. Everyone else was upstairs partying – relieved to be alive – and they were quite alone. Fandral looked around with interest as she switched on lights and took out blood collection apparatus, snapping on a pair of latex gloves.

"Your arm," she gestured at his elbow, and he nodded, stripping off his leather jerkin and rolling up the sleeve of the fine silk shirt he wore beneath.

Jemma gulped, looking at the thickly corded muscles of his forearm. It was warm under her touch, and as his bicep flexed, the vein conveniently appeared. She poked the needle at it.

It snapped clean off.

"Oh crap!" Jemma started back, looking for the broken needle.

Fandral let out a laugh. "I fear this may be a problem, my lady. Your Earth steel will not easily pierce Asgardian skin."

"Apparently!" Jemma found the broken needle and picked it up carefully, depositing it in her sharps container. She stripped off her contaminated gloves and dumped them. "So – I guess I can't take a sample, then," she said, crestfallen.

"Certainly you can." Fandral disliked seeing that disappointed look on her face. He drew a short knife from his belt and offered it to her. "Cut me – here," he gestured at his forearm. "Hold a bowl beneath to catch the blood."

"No, I couldn't!" she gasped, horrified. He raised a mocking blond eyebrow – and flipped the knife over, drawing it across his arm in a long, deep slice. "Oh my God!"

"Catch it quickly, my lady, already the wound begins to heal," Fandral murmured.

Jemma looked frantically around, found a clean beaker and held it under the dripping blood with shaking hands. He was right, though, in under two minutes the wound was entirely closed up and there was only perhaps a quarter cupful of dark red blood in the beaker.

"Please don't _ever_ do that again," she put the beaker down and grabbed for a packet of surgical wipes, ripping them open and pressing one against his arm, wiping away the smeared blood over the freshly formed scar. "Will this fade?" she pressed her fingers against it, uncaring that she had forgotten to put fresh gloves on.

"Ahhh!" they both cried out simultaneously. Jemma would have pulled away, because it burned like fire where her skin touched his, but his other hand came up and clamped her fingers against his arm in a grip she couldn't have broken with a crowbar.

_Oh my God, Asgardian blood must be toxic to humans – wait, why's he in pain as well?_

The pain faded, but Fandral didn't let go of her hand, staring deep into her eyes.

"It is _you_," he whispered wonderingly. "A thousand years I've searched for you, my lady."

"What?" she blinked. He lifted his hand, taking hers with it, turning it over to reveal a row of tiny golden runes printed on her fingertips – and a row of tiny silver ones along the cut on his arm. "What does that say?"

He read for a moment, laughed slightly. "These say _Property of Jemma Simmons_. Yours say _Beloved of Fandral_. They are soul-marks, my lady, Asgardian soul-marks. Apparently your soul feels the need to claim ownership of me."

Jemma's jaw hit the floor. She'd resigned herself that she was never going to get a soulmark, reaching her age without the words appearing on her body. "You're my _soulmate_?" she gasped out.

"Yes, my lady." His greenish-golden eyes gazed deep into hers and she shivered as she felt something _click_ into place inside her. It was a deeply satisfying feeling, like a key turning in a lock. Two halves of something becoming whole.

"Yes," Jemma whispered, staring up at Fandral, and it was she who reached up to his face, framing it in her small hands, drawing him down for a kiss.

"By Odin's eye, Fandral, we can't take you anywhere!" Thor boomed disapprovingly about three minutes later.

"No," Fandral murmured, lifting his head, looking down at Jemma who clung to him, her arms still around his neck. "No, Thor, you can't. I've found my place – and I'm not going anywhere."

**998 words.**

**This one's out of order, but it was already written, and I got so caught up writing sexy!Rumlow in **_**You Need To Trust Me**_** I've totally got behind on these ;)**

**Oh well. These two are cute together anyway!**


	59. Let Go Of Me (Skye & Victor Von Doom)

**Let Go Of Me**

_Skye/Victor von Doom_

DoomQuake (which sounds awfully ominous)

**Theme song:**

**David Bowie - Heroes**

"Remind me again _why_ we are dealing with a dictator?"

Skye sounded outraged. Coulson sighed and looked at her. _How was everything still so black and white to Skye?_ he wondered. _After everything she's seen, everything she's been through_…

"Skye, there are dictators and then there are _dictators_. Victor von Doom may be an absolute monarch, but he's no Mugabe. Latveria was an impoverished Baltic nation fighting to keep from being swallowed up by its neighbours when Doom ascended the throne. Today, Latverians have the highest standard of living of any nation on Earth."

"And closed borders," Skye snapped back. "No immigration or emigration."

"Again not strictly true. Doom is just very, very picky about who he allows citizenship to. Productive members of society only. Unemployment is less than one per cent, and those who are disadvantaged or handicapped are assisted. Frankly, if I was Latverian? I wouldn't _want_ to emigrate."

"Humph," Skye muttered. "I still think it's wrong. All those people living in luxury…"

"Skye, ten years ago _all those people_ were starving to death! I was in Latveria once, back in '96, I think it was…" Phil shook his head. "A more miserable hellhole I've never seen. Doom has worked miracles. And he says he's willing to provide S.H.I.E.L.D. with a safe haven on European soil, and bankroll our operations. He believes in what we're doing and he hates HYDRA. So please. Mind your manners."

"Am I still allowed to _think_ he's an asshole?" Skye muttered angrily.

"Plenty of people do, I believe," a smooth, deep voice said behind her, making her jump and let out a shocked scream, fumbling for the weapon she'd had to surrender before entering the embassy. She whirled, trying to strike out, but two large hands suddenly had hold of her wrists, holding her still.

"Looks like your boss isn't the only asshole around here!" she snapped at the tall, dark, handsome man before her. He reminded her of Ward, a little, though he was probably a few years older. And even better-looking, his beautifully symmetrical features only accentuated by a tiny scar on one cheek.

Dark brows angled downwards over striking blue eyes. For a long moment they stared at each other, and then he looked at Coulson.

"Would you care to enlighten her, Director?"

"Skye," Coulson said rather nervously, "you've just insulted the President of Latveria. Twice. And attempted to assault him. Please stand down."

"Get away from me," Skye snapped, ignoring Coulson completely. "Let go of me!"

"And why should I do that?" Those mobile dark brows arched, and he smiled slowly. "I think you're the first person ever to think anyone might be my 'boss', and quite probably the last. So are you going to show me the words, or am I going to have to make you?"

"No," Skye gasped out, struggling against his grip. Too spooked to even think about using her power against him – not that she would dare, she'd never tried it against another human being and it might just kill him and…

"_No!_ I don't _want_ you, you stand for everything I hate!"

"So did S.H.I.E.L.D., once," Phil murmured, watching with fascination as he realised what was happening. As Doom's sleeve slid up his forearm with Skye's struggles, revealing a line of words around his wrist in her spiky handwriting. "I really am going to have to ask you to let her go, Mr. President."

He let her struggle for a moment longer, just long enough to make it quite clear that she couldn't get away if he didn't want her to. And then he let go, and surprised Skye by making a small bow to her.

"That, I believe, was the very definition of a bad beginning, and I hope you won't hold it against me. Good day. I am Victor von Doom. It's nice to meet you."

Skye looked down at the hand he held out to her, that large, powerful hand that had gripped like steel around her wrist. Looked up into those startlingly blue eyes.

"This is Agent Skye, sir," Phil said quietly when she couldn't find her voice. She did manage to raise her hand to shake his, and was stunned again when he lifted it to his lips in an old-fashioned courtesy. The slight brush of his lips against her knuckles sent a shiver down her spine.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Victor said courteously, his eyes locked with the dark gaze of the slight woman who held the missing half of his soul. And who apparently hated his guts.

"Um," Skye said helplessly, for once utterly lost for words. "Hi."

She heard Phil choke next to her, and then Doom turned to Coulson with a charming smile.

"Director, I do apologise for any inconvenience, but I'm sure you understand I've been rather thrown a curveball here."

_YOU'VE been thrown a curveball!_

Phil was nodding, though, the traitorous bastard, and _smiling_. "Yes, sir, I do understand. Perhaps you'd like me to go and sit, um, over there?" He gestured to the very far end of the extremely large and opulent reception room they'd been shown into. Doom nodded and smiled back, so he headed off, choosing a seat right in the corner where he could still see them but wouldn't hear their conversation. Not unless Skye started screaming, anyway.

"This is weird," Skye finally found her voice. "How are you my soulmate? You're a, a, a…" she couldn't quite come up with the word.

"Please don't say super-villain, it's so cliché," he sighed.

"...Monarch!"

"And you're an anti-establishment anarchist. Or you _were_," he arched his eyebrows at her. "You changed your mind about S.H.I.E.L.D., Skye. Give me a chance to make you change your mind about me, too."

He was still, somehow, holding onto the hand he'd kissed. He lifted it back to his lips, brushed them over her knuckles again, and smiled into her eyes.

"I think we could achieve great things together."

**998 words.**

**If you haven't seen the Fantastic Four movies, you probably should. They're not the best movies ever made, but there is quite an astonishing amount of man-candy, with Chris Evans (Johnny Storm), Ioan Gruffudd (Reed Richards) and the very delectable (Australian) Julian McMahon (Victor von Doom).**

**Dr Doom is an interesting character, and has been described as one of the greatest comic villains of all time. He's extremely complicated, and in many scenarios has actually helped the good guys. I like to think, like some of the other more complicated villains *cough*Loki*cough*, that he could be redeemed by the love of a good woman.**

**Enter a lippy little hacker with serious trust issues…**

**THIS HAS A SEQUEL! By the very talented and very funny storieaddict. Unfortunately it's only currently available on Ao3. You can contact me if you don't know what that is or if you're having trouble finding the story!**


	60. D'You Wanna Build A Snowman?(Skye&Iceman

**D'You Wanna Build A Snowman?**

_Skye/Iceman_

IceQuake

**In order to explain where the premise for this fic is coming from, you should know that in comic canon Bobby Drake (Iceman) is a CPA and practising accountant. He handles Warren Worthington's books and channels money where it needs to go for the X-Men…**

"Skye," May walked into her office, "would you care to explain why I have a very irritated accountant on the phone asking why you've been siphoning money from one of the Worthington philanthropic funds?"

She looked up, wide-eyed. "No?"

"You mean no, you wouldn't care to explain?"

"No, how the fuck did he catch me at it?"

"That's a discussion you can have with Mr Drake while you're arranging to pay the money back. Worthington's one of the good guys, Skye. He might have nearly as much money as Stark but he does even more philanthropic work with it. He's agreed not to pursue us – indeed, to look the other way – as long as the money goes back and _you_ apologise. So go meet with Mr Drake."

Jemma convinced Skye that she should go to the meeting looking professional – as opposed to her usual street-chic look – and persuaded Skye into a smart navy skirt suit, cream silk blouse, pantyhose and heeled pumps.

Jemma would probably have carried it off beautifully. The English rose never seemed to overheat. On a stinking hot August day in New York, Skye was absolutely melting, though. Any makeup she'd been wearing was long since melted off by the time she got to the Worthington building. Which wasn't nearly air-conditioned enough, in her opinion. She gave her name to a snooty receptionist and was sent up to a very high floor, greeted by an even snootier secretary and shown into a very opulent – and deliciously _cool_ – office.

Skye couldn't help a small moan of pleasure as the cold air hit her skin, raising goose-bumps. And then she met the eyes of the man seated behind the desk, saw his expression change as he heard the embarrassingly sensual sound she'd just let out.

"Hi," she said, embarrassed, giving him a small waggle of her fingers.

_Oh, wow, he's rather yummy. I wouldn't mind if he wanted to make me let out more sounds like that…_

Bobby sighed mentally. _I hate it when pretty girls say 'Hi' to me. Always gets my hopes up…_

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that you should never say anything generic like 'Hi' when you first meet someone, just in case they turn out to be your soulmate?"

Skye's mouth fell open. "Well, yes," she said, "but since I always knew I was going to say 'Hi' to my soulmate, I kind of got in the habit of saying it anyway?"

"_What?_" he shot to his feet. He wasn't particularly tall, only a couple of inches taller than Skye in her heels, but pleasingly broad-shouldered beneath his shirt and tie. He came stalking towards her and her eyes widened, because he did _not_ move like an office nerd, not even one who worked out. He had the lethal glide and grace of a trained operative. She worked with enough of them to recognise it by now.

"You're apparently the reason why half my lower back is covered in writing, so you owe me at least a little bit of honesty here," she said, backing hastily towards the door. "You're no accountant. What the hell _are_ you?"

Bobby hesitated in mid-stride. Stopped still and held his hands up placatingly. "You're Agent Skye, right? One of Coulson's?"

She nodded, wide dark eyes fixed on his.

"Then you'll know about the X-Men."

_Oh_. Skye blinked. Worthington was a mutant, one of the few in the public eye, not that he had much choice with those spectacular wings of his. She supposed it wasn't at all unlikely that there could be a fair few mutants working under his benevolent aegis. "You're X?"

"X-gene positive, yes." He could see the question hovering in her eyes, so he held out his hand and concentrated, _creating_.

Skye stared in astonishment as tiny fragments of blue ice started to whirl over his outstretched hand. In just moments they were coalescing into something solid, and then he was holding something out to her.

It was a rose, a perfect flower sculpted from blue ice. She took it wonderingly; it was hard and cold under her fingers, but as soon as he let go she could feel the ice warming and turning slick.

"They call me Iceman," Bobby said, enjoying her expression. "But to correct you – I am, also, an accountant. Robert Drake, but call me Bobby."

"That's kind of cool," Skye admitted. "I'm not X-gene positive. I'm something else." She could feel the ice starting to drip on her fingers. So she concentrated and sent a tiny quake through it.

Ice shattered away from her hand, and Bobby started back. "What the _hell_…?"

"They call _me_ Quake. I'm still learning to control my powers, though." She could feel the vibrations of the tiny quake even now.

"I could – maybe help you with that." He stepped forward, offered his hand. "It's taken a lot of work to fine-tune my skills."

Skye nodded, thinking of the perfection of that icy rose. "Thank you." She slipped her hand into his, surprised to find it warm. "Hey," she couldn't resist the joke, "d'you wanna build a snowman?"

"If you ever call me Elsa we're through," he grinned at her, admiring her bright eyes, the way her lips curved as though she wanted to laugh.

"But there are _so many_ Frozen jokes I could make," she lamented. "Do you sing? Please tell me that you've sung _Let It Go_ at least once while building a castle out of ice…"

He shut her up with a kiss.

"If you ever sing that song in my presence," Bobby murmured a couple of minutes later, when Skye was relaxed in his arms, her fingers running through his spiked blond hair, "I will put you over my knee and spank you."

She looked up at him, eyes dancing, lips swollen from being thoroughly kissed. "Promise?"

**974 words.**

**Could **_**not**_** help myself from going there with the **_**Frozen**_** jokes. In my headcanon everyone (well, mostly Pyro) sings **_**Let It Go**_** at Bobby every time he wants to get under his skin.**


	61. You're Welcome, Darlin' (Hunter & Bobbi)

**You're Welcome, Darlin'**

_Hunter/Bobbi_

Mockinghunter

**Theme Song:**

**Miley Cyrus – 7 Things **

**I did promise I'd write this one at some point. You can consider this effectively canon for any of my soulmate AU's in which they appear together (eg The Gambler), including the multiples Shorts (Clint/Natasha/Hunter/Bobbi is due in a few days, for example). I'm not going to write the breakdown, though. You can assume that in the triad/quartet groupings involving them, that their marriage broke down because they needed their third/fourth to keep them stable and things fell apart when it was just the two of them. Despite that, they keep getting drawn back together like a pair of magnets…**

_This is bad. This is real bad_. Bobbi breathed through her mouth, feeling the blood trickling down her throat from her smashed nose. _Hurry up, Iz_…

She was tied to a chair, and the Chechen asshole in front of her wasn't running his mouth as he was supposed to. He was just beating the shit out of her. She couldn't even flip the chair in the trick Izzy had taught her, because the fucking thing was bolted down. All she could do was sit and take the beating, and hope Izzy and whoever she was working with here came along soon…

Pain exploded along her cheekbone and she screamed as she felt the delicate bone shatter.

_Fucking hell, Fury had better cough up for a good surgeon to fix this shit!_

Half-blinded, she rocked her head back upright just in time to see the Chechen's head explode in a red mist.

"Like to pick on defenceless women, you wanker?" a voice said in a distinctly English accent, and she focussed vaguely on a stocky, compact man in urban-patterned combat gear coming out of the shadows, silenced pistol in hand.

"You asshole," she said thickly through smashed lips, "I needed him alive!"

The Brit turned to her with a surprised look on his face. After a moment he sheathed the pistol and pulled out a wicked-looking combat knife. "You're welcome, darlin'," he said dryly, and started slashing the cable ties which bound her to the chair.

"Ugh," Bobbi was disgusted with her own weakness when she couldn't stand up. "You don't understand, he hadn't told me where his base of operations was!"

"He didn't have one." The soldier got his shoulder under her arm and lifted, taking her weight easily. He was an inch or so shorter than she was, so it was surprisingly comfortable to lean on his sturdy frame while she got her legs under her. "Not any more. I blew it the fuck up about three hours ago. Y'know, Izzy seemed to think you'd be happier to see me than this."

She couldn't help but groan, the pain hitting her as she tried to move.

"You want me to carry you, darlin'?"

"No!" not on her first solo undercover mission, _hell no_ she wasn't going to be carried out like some fainting useless heroine. "My SO would have my head."

"Not considering the state of you."

Hunter looked with concern at the tall woman staggering along at his side. She was in pretty bad shape. Agent Morse, Hartley had called her. Young but already considered a superb S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. A skilled interrogator. Only things had gone wrong, her cover blown, and the Chechen had been taking a vicious pleasure in destroying what had apparently been spectacular looks. "Hang in there, darlin'," he muttered, wondering if she really was his soulmate. She hadn't reacted when he spoke to her, though, so maybe not. "I'll have you out of here soon."

Bobbi came awake slowly, opening her eyes and taking in the hospital room around her. Someone was sitting by her bedside, and she turned her head to see a dark-haired man sitting there, reading a book. She took in his features curiously. Sharp cheekbones, dark eyes, the kind of starved-wolf look she'd always found attractive in a man.

"Who are you?" she croaked.

"Hunter. Sergeant Lance Hunter of the 22nd."

"22nd is the SAS," she dredged from her sleep-muddled brain.

"Who dares, wins," he quoted his regimental motto at her, grinning. "So with that in mind, darlin', how about a date?"

"What?" she could feel the bandages covering her face. Remembered the sickening cracks of her facial bones shattering. "You can't want to, I…" she lifted a hand, touched her bandaged jaw.

"This is the only time I might not have to beat all the other guys off with a stick," he said with a shrug, those lovely chocolate-coloured eyes laughing. "I've seen photos. The surgeons have done a bang-up job, darlin', don't worry, you'll be just as beautiful as you ever were in no time."

"Well," she said, a bit embarrassed at being so vain, "maybe when I'm not hideous, I'll take you up on that?"

"I'm not worried about waiting." He seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then he stood and slowly started to unbutton his shirt.

Bobbi wasn't going to object because it looked as though he might be very nicely built under the plain black button-down, although it seemed a little odd for him to be giving her a striptease. Until he pulled the shirt open and revealed the scrawled writing she recognised only too well across his collarbones.

_You asshole, I needed him alive!_

"Oh," she said a bit blankly.

"Yeah, and after I harassed Iz for about three hours she agreed to look. Apparently my words are on your arse, which is probably appropriate seeing what you think of me."

She looked at the insult on his chest. Apologies weren't exactly her style, though. So she said instead; "I guess I owe you a date, at least."

"You don't owe me anything, darlin'. It'd be nice to rock up at the Regiment's Christmas ball with a beautiful secret agent on my arm, though."

Christmas was four months away. She'd be all healed up by then, good as new. She looked into his eyes, liked the fact that he wasn't pushing her. "You got yourself a date, soldier."

_At the SAS Regimental Christmas Ball_

She was the most beautiful woman in the room by miles, turning every head. In a stunning turquoise gown that set off her blonde hair to perfection and four-inch silver heels, she towered over him. And he absolutely didn't give a shit.

"Gonna marry you," he told her as they danced together, she light and graceful in his arms.

"Are you now?" she arched her eyebrows at him.

"Yep. You're clearly far too dangerous to be left on the loose."

She smiled. "So are you, soldier."

**999 words.**

**I'm going to make a lot of you jealous now by telling you that I've actually been to an SAS (UK) Christmas ball. My brother's best friend was in the Regiment and took me along as his date one year – a long story involving drinking games and a lost bet (he lost). They're not all as sexy as Lance Hunter, regrettably, though generally they are just as lippy – though a lot more foul-mouthed!**


	62. Whatever You Need (Skye & Scarlet Witch)

**Whatever You Need**

_Skye/Wanda_

WitchQuake

Theme Song:

INXS – Mystify

This one is a direct sequel to the Jemma/Quicksilver Short, _Told You I Was Quick_ (chapter 39, if you want a refresher). It picks up immediately after the end of that fic.

"Pietro," Wanda's voice said hoarsely, "quick is not always a good thing. Most women wouldn't consider it so, anyway."

"Oh," he blushed quite charmingly, Jemma realised, and had to smother a smile as she made her way to her patient.

"How are you feeling?" she reached to take Wanda's hand.

"Good. It's nice to meet you. We've both been looking forward to it." Her eyes were startlingly green, and not at all in focus, Jemma realised.

"Well, I'm Jemma," she said a bit uncertainly, looking over her shoulder as May, Hunter and Coulson came running into the jet. "We'll be taking off now, it'll be a bit bumpy until we rendezvous with the Bus – that's a big plane – at altitude, and then we can get you transferred."

"That's nice. I'm looking forward to meeting her," Wanda said, and then her eyes drifted closed.

Pietro grabbed at Jemma, steadying her, as the jet lifted off the ground. She leaned into him for a moment, smiling shyly, but her expression quickly shifted to one of concern.

"I think Wanda may be concussed. Or have bleeding on the brain. We really need to get her up to the Bus as quickly as possible so I can get her into the med bay and use the CT scanner…"

"Jemma," he caught at her hands gently. "Wanda's not concussed or anything. She talks funny sometimes, when she has visions. She's been seeing this day for years, the day when we both meet our soulmates. I can't tell you how many times she's told me about you, but her descriptions – well, she never did you justice."

They were staring at each other, leaning in for a kiss, when Hunter's wolf-whistle broke it up. Jemma gave the former mercenary two fingers without even looking at him, but he was right. Attractive though Pietro was, this _really_ wasn't the time or place.

"You won't believe it, but Simmons managed to find her soulmate," Hunter told Skye gleefully. She gave him an incredulous look.

"What?"

"Yup. The guy we rescued. He's a strange one, and his sister's even odder."

"This I have to see," Skye decided, and headed down to the med bay. She'd begged to go on the mission, but Coulson had vetoed it. Hulk got nervous when the ground started shaking for no reason he could discern. _Big wuss_, Skye thought.

Well, that had to be Jemma's soulmate then, the tall white-haired man standing just inside the med-bay door, arms folded over his muscular chest as he watched Jemma fuss over a pretty dark-haired girl. The man gave Skye a quick glance, and then a longer, slower perusal, mouth quirking up in a grin.

_Oh my God poor Jemma, her soulmate's an asshole, he just ogled me_, was Skye's immediate thought. And then he turned away, still grinning, and looked at his sister.

"Wanda," Pietro said softly, "she's here."

Wanda gestured impatiently and the penlight Jemma was trying to shine in her eyes flew out of her hand and hit the wall. Wanda pushed herself up to a sitting position and focussed on Skye.

Full, soft lips curved in a beautiful smile, green eyes glowed, and then Wanda said, "Oh, you _are_ beautiful. I'm _so_ happy to meet you."

Skye took a startled step backwards. Jemma blinked. "Skye? Aren't those your soulmark words?" Something hit her then. "Wait, you said Wanda _knew_ the two of you would meet your soulmates on the _same day_?" she stared at Pietro. He nodded with a smile, reaching to take Jemma's hand and draw her towards him, giving his sister the space she needed.

"I really thought you preferred guys!" Jemma said to Skye, startled.

"I used to. Until I realised that all they wanted to do was use me and tear me down," Skye said bitterly, thinking of her past mistakes. _Miles. Ward_. No, indeed, she'd always liked women too and she doubted she could ever bring herself to trust a man again. Somehow it was no surprise that her soulmate was a woman, and this girl was lovely, about her own age or a touch older, with soft straight dark hair and those astonishingly green eyes.

"I won't do that," Wanda held her hand out slowly, as though coaxing a skittish animal, and slowly, Skye came to her and took it. "I don't want to use you or hurt you. You're amazing, Quake."

Skye's eyes popped wide. _Nobody_, not even Phil, knew the name she'd decided to adopt for herself, to use when she wished to remain anonymous. She hadn't shared it yet, not quite ready to declare herself equal with the other 'code name' heroes.

Wanda carried on, uncaring that Skye hadn't yet spoken her soulmark words, knowing that they would come, when the moment was right. "We're going to be an amazing team. I can use my probability powers to make your quakes strike only where they need to. I'm afraid I need one thing from you, though."

"Whatever you need," Skye found her voice at last, awed and wondering. "I'll do."

"There'll come a day when it's possible that I might unmake the universe. When that day comes?"

Skye only stared at her wide-eyed. Wanda gave her a reassuring smile.

"I'm going to need you to give me a good slap across the face and tell me to snap out of it."

**897 words.**

**I'm quite sure Skye could manage that LOL.**

**As always, I am still looking for people to help continue these. Have a look at the Index in Chapter One and see if there's one available that interests you – even if you're not sure you're a writer, I'm happy to collaborate and give you a boost. It could be one simple follow-up scene or a major AU, it's up to you, just get in touch!**


	63. We've All Got Baggage (Skye & Bruce)

**We've All Got Baggage**

_Skye/Bruce_

GammaQuake… I think?

**Theme song:**

**Bob Marley – Three Little Words**

"Urgh," Bruce opened his eyes. The world tilted. Blurred. He shut them again.

"Are you all right?"

He was far too accustomed to people asking him that, but it wasn't usually a light, feminine voice speaking. He kept his eyes closed. "I will be. Please stay away from me." Something occurred to him then and he scrabbled at his waist in a panic. _Oh, thank God, the super-stretchy pants Tony had created were still on_. He wasn't bare-ass naked in front of some poor girl.

She didn't say anything, and he assumed she'd left. Until something soft draped over his shoulders.

Reluctantly, he forced his eyes open. Saw her sitting beside him. Very young, as he'd thought from her voice; well, not a _child_, mid-twenties probably, but young compared to him. Especially since he felt about a hundred at the moment, as usual after a Hulk transformation.

"You really shouldn't sit so close," he gathered the soft thing around his shoulders, realised it was a survival blanket. "I'm dangerous."

"I know what you are." She had dark brown eyes with a slight tilt to them. "I know _who_ you are. Bruce Banner, PhD, aka The Hulk. I'm Skye." She smiled at his wary expression. "Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., I work for Coulson. We were watching your, well, the Avengers, _disagreement_ with MODOK from up high."

And just like that he remembered. "Fucking technomancer and his clever-ass transformation ray," he muttered under his breath.

"Yes, I'm afraid he took you out of the fight early. Stark told Coulson he had the situation under control so we followed you from the air. He did, incidentally. Or rather, Hawkeye did. An EMP arrow took care of the problem."

"And Coulson sent _you_ down to take care of me?" he huffed, cautiously sitting up. "Has he run out of more senior agents with any balls, then?"

Skye's eyes widened, and she failed to suppress a laugh. "Uh, I volunteered. And since I'm the one you're least likely to be able to hurt, Coulson agreed. Eventually." She had a small pack on her knees she'd taken the blanket from; she dug back into it now and produced a bottle of water and a protein bar, offered them both.

Bruce accepted, eyeing her curiously. "That statement makes me think you're a lot more dangerous than you look."

Skye smiled tightly.

"So, uh, you said the words that are on my leg," she said after they'd sat in silence for a few minutes, Bruce slowly eating the protein bar and drinking his water, grateful that someone had obviously briefed Coulson and his team on what state he'd be in after an involuntary transformation.

"I _what_?" he spat out a bit of water, fortunately missing her.

"I'm sure people ask you if you're all right quite often, really, so I'd have to see my words to be sure," Skye was blushing slightly, "or I'll have to, um, well…" She tapped her fingers on the inside of her thigh. In the close-fitting black combat pants she was wearing, she'd have to take them down to show him.

"I can't possibly be your soulmate! It's not a platonic mark!" he said the first thing that came to mind.

"Oh," she flinched back. "You're in love with someone else? Or – gay?"

"Neither – but you can't be more than half my age…"

"I am twenty-six and you're forty-one," she said with dignity. "I am a good deal more than half your age. Plus, while your hair might be starting to grey at your temples in what I must say is a very distinguished and sexy look, I happen to know that you are in peak physical condition thanks to the Other Guy, as apparently you prefer to call him. If you don't want me, just say so. Don't make invalid excuses."

He was staring at her with his mouth slightly open, his delicious chocolaty eyes wide. Skye resisted the compulsion to crawl into his lap and cuddle him. Hulk might not like it. She let out a small sigh.

_Oh well. It's not like I ever do anything the easy way. Finding out my soulmate has a rage monster alter ego should be pretty much par for the course, really_. She took a certain vindictive pleasure in hoping Ward tried something when Bruce was nearby, though. Skye suspected she'd really enjoy watching Hulk play soccer ball with Ward's head.

She was _gorgeous_. Young and beautiful, obviously smart, darkly pretty in the kind of way that had always made Bruce take a second look, or indeed a third. More than that, she _knew_ about him and she wasn't running screaming. Indeed, she was casting him a decidedly flirtatious look under her lashes.

"I won't ask you to show me your words," he said flatly, shrugged the blanket off his shoulders and stood, edging down the waist of his pants to show the words just on the upper curve of his ass. Skye stood gracefully, stepped close to look.

"Yes, that's my writing," she murmured. Her fingers lightly brushed the small of his back, and she looked up at him. "Looks like you're stuck with me, then."

"I really do think you've got that backwards," but he couldn't resist curling an arm around her, drawing her closer. Hulk was silent in the back of his mind, Bruce could feel him watching with a silent fascination that actually boded quite well for his staying out of things.

Skye's arms slid around his neck. "We've all got baggage," she said quietly. "Some of us are just better at sharing the load. Let me share yours, Bruce."

He smiled down at her. "It's quite a load."

"I'm stronger than I look."

Somehow, he didn't doubt it. And as her arms tightened around his neck and she drew him down for a kiss, he had the strangest feeling, for the first time in a very long time, that everything really was going to be all right.

**997 words.**

**They are ADORBS. **

**I like this idea, that Skye goes into the relationship eyes wide open, knowing full well what she's getting herself into, and making the informed decision to do it anyway because she decides Bruce is worth it.**


	64. Did You Get Burned? (Jemma & Iceman)

**Did You Get Burned?**

_Jemma/Iceman (Bobby Drake)_

Frigid Biochemist? I dunno, I fucking give up with these ship names, no one but me is ever gonna use most of them…

_Theme Song:_

_Goo Goo Dolls – Without You Here_

**In this one, Pyro's a bad guy (as in the movies) he ends up on the wrong side. He and Bobby used to be friends, but no more…**

_Why am I always the one who gets into these situations?_

Jemma had to wonder as she cowered under the lab bench, watching the guy with the crazy eyes wandering around muttering to himself. The job seemed so _simple_, go undercover at this small-town lab Phil suspected was creating a knockoff of the Centipede serum and find out what was really happening.

It wasn't Centipede, was in fact something that was none of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s business, Jemma had found out just that morning. It was another version of the mutant-depowering serum, which made it squarely a problem for the X-Men. She'd emailed it in to Phil and asked for extraction.

Only, someone else had arrived first. She recognised the blond from briefings on the X-Men – only this wasn't one of Xavier's. This was the dangerous mutant known as Pyro. He'd already killed the three other lab staff and was now roaming around selecting horribly flammable chemicals and mixing them with a dangerous look of glee on his face.

Jemma tried not to breathe loudly. Wondered if she was going to make it out this time. Only her natural instincts had kept her alive thus far, since she'd dived under the bench at the first gunshot outside, when the other scientists had frozen in place – and died when Pyro came in the door.

"That should do it," Pyro murmured, and began pouring the horribly volatile mixture he'd just made along the floor in front of the storage freezers. When he'd finished, he took a Zippo out of his pocket and flipped it open, a grin forming on his face.

Jemma took a deep breath. _He's put the gun away. I have to run. Now. He might survive that explosion but I won't..._

She was running like hell for the door when the world went red and white and very loud.

_Jesus H Christ!_ Bobby leapt from the X-jet which had just landed and went belting towards the flames. _Pyro, had to be, the son of a bitch_... He was already creating ice, trying to contain the explosion, when movement caught his eye. A woman, her clothes on fire, doing the smart thing and rolling trying to put them out. He diverted ice and contained the flames, putting them out. He was vaguely aware of Logan, Jean and Scott running past him, but none of them could do much until he contained the flames.

"Are you okay?" he heard Scott shout at the woman.

"Yes!" Jemma shouted back over the roar of flames and the hissing crackle of ice. "It's Pyro!"

_Of course it is_. Bobby bared his teeth and redoubled his efforts. Within minutes the entire building was encased in a sarcophagus of ice, the flames raging inside rapidly dying as they ran out of oxygen.

"That was rather impressive," a soft voice said by his knee as he lowered his hands finally, and he looked down to see the woman he'd saved. Her clothes were pretty much non-existent after getting burned, and he averted his eyes in embarrassment, but not without noticing that she was _very_ attractive.

"Did you get burned?" he asked. "I can help…" he held out his hands, ice forming over them, before it occurred to him that in order to help, he'd have to put his hands on her near-naked body. He flushed slightly.

"No, I'm all right," Jemma was surprised to discover. Her clothes had only been burning for a second or so before the thin layer of ice had crackled all over her and put the flames out, obviously created by this good-looking young man. "Thank you for saving my life." The shock was wearing off slightly.

Bobby turned to give her a more thorough look. Shock might be making her not feel pain from any burns… he stared.

"That. On your shoulder. Is that your soulmark?" Wait, she said _That was rather impressive_ to me…

"Yes?" Jemma stared up at him. "Oh," she suddenly realised what he'd said to her. "Wow. I always thought that would happen in the kitchen or something. I'm a terrible cook."

His lips twitched, and he unzipped and peeled off his tight-fitting leather jacket and reached to put it around her, offering his hand to help her up.

"Can't say I had any expectations about when I'd meet you." She was smaller than he was by about five inches, he discovered. Which was nice, her pretty hazel eyes on a level with his chin. She looked up at him and smiled, huddling his jacket around her.

"I'm Jemma."

"Bobby. Please tell me you weren't an evil scientist working in that lab?"

"Actually I'm an undercover agent from S.H.I.E.L.D. and I'm guessing you're here because Coulson called?"

Bobby smiled in relief. Over her shoulder, he could see Scott melting a tunnel into the ice encasing the building, Logan preparing to go in. Pyro should be unconscious by now from lack of oxygen, but Jean was ready just in case. Bobby's work was done, for now. He put an arm around his soulmate, holding his jacket closed around her body.

"I'm sure this is all backwards," he said with a grin, "but could I get you some clothes to put on?"

Jemma found herself giggling at the amusement dancing in his blue eyes. "I suppose we'd better."

"Though I hope you'll give me the chance to take them off later," his voice went deep and soft, and he stared into her eyes.

"I'm sure that could be arranged," Jemma murmured. _Oh my goodness he's gorgeous._

_Oh my goodness he's going to kiss me…_

They were kissing passionately when the older X-Men returned, an unconscious Pyro slung over Logan's shoulder.

"What the – I thought we brought Bobby, not Gambit?" Scott said incredulously to Jean, who blinked, read a few surface thoughts and smiled.

"She's his soulmate."

"The lucky little fucker," Logan eyed Jemma's bare legs appreciatively until Bobby threw a fistful of ice shards at him without ever breaking the kiss.

**999 words.**


	65. Run Away Bravely (May & Drax(GotG))

**Run Away Bravely**

_Melinda May/Drax The Destroyer_

MayDrax

Theme Song:

Nickelback – Burn It To The Ground

**This one follows the Jemma/Peter Quill Short. I am seriously not creative enough to come up with all that many ways to make the AoS crew meet GotG…**

**So in this premise, Jemma and Peter went to visit Coulson and Co very briefly, to tell them that she was leaving. They grieved but accepted her decision. A year or so later, they come back for a visit and Jemma convinces the rest of the GotG crew to come along – mainly because she's developed an evil sense of humour through spending too much time with Peter and she just wants to see everyone's reactions…**

May prided herself on her poker face. She'd played cards with Remy LeBeau and held her own, at least until the Cajun cheated. She watched with a certain degree of amusement as even Phil and Bobbi failed to hold their neutral expressions when introduced to Gamora, the beautiful green woman, the knee-high tree called Groot, the talking racoon and the hugely muscled guy who apparently didn't like shirts.

She ran her eyes over him appreciatively, letting nothing show on her face. His skin was a strange colour, slightly greenish although not as bright as Gamora's, patterned all over with red – veins? Scars? Tattoos? She found it faintly fascinating, would love to take a closer look.

Jemma looked radiant, barely able to separate herself from Peter, who never let her out of his sight. They were so obviously happy together that May let go of her last lingering worries. She showed her teeth in return to Rocket's bared-teeth greeting and inclined her head politely to Gamora.

"I am Groot," the small tree said, tapping a twig on her knee, and she went to one knee and looked into its eyes.

"I am pleased to meet you, Groot, I am Melinda May." She held out a hand, and the tree folded twigs over it for a moment. She could swear it was beaming with pleasure.

"I am Groot!" It turned to Rocket, tapped twigs on the racoon's shoulder. "I am Groot! _We_ are Groot!"

"No, Groot," Rocket growled. "We can't keep this one." He bared teeth at May in what she realised was Rocket's version of a smile. "Sorry. He likes you. Says you're one of ours."

May found a smile curving her lips, and then a giant shadow fell over her, where she was on one knee to speak to Groot and Rocket. She rose gracefully to her feet, still smiling.

"This is Drax," Rocket growled – she realised he sounded like that all the time. "The Destroyer."

She looked up into surprisingly human dark brown eyes.

"Jemma has told me of your courage and skill at war," Drax rumbled, in a voice so deep it _thrummed_ right through her. "I am honoured to make your acquaintance." He placed a huge hand over his heart – or where his heart would be if he was human, anyway – and then held it out to her. "Though Jemma did not speak of your beauty."

Rocket tripped over his tail. "Did _Drax_ just make a pass at _her_?"

"We are Groot!"

May's hand stuttered on its way to meet Drax's. The only thing she knew about the huge warrior was that Jemma had said he was incredibly literal, incapable of deception or exaggeration. And that _was_ an admiring look on his face.

_Well._

She let her eyes linger on the huge shoulders and lateral muscles. Felt that fine tremor begin in her muscles as she realised that finally, she was truly physically outmatched. This man would never let her be on top. He'd…

_Stop fantasising about what he could do with those muscles and shake his hand already!_

Her hand looked tiny and pale as it approached his. He held his hand oddly, palm up, and she laid her palm over it, hoping it was the appropriate way to greet him.

A strange heat curled around her palm, licked up her arm. May gasped, went to pull back even though the sensation wasn't unpleasant, but enormous fingers curled around hers, holding her still.

"You," Drax rumbled in delighted amazement. "_You_ are my _mate_." He'd thought her beautiful when he first laid eyes on her, standing so straight-backed and still, the warrior inside him recognising a soul as fierce as his own. But his _mate_. This was _his_ mate.

"What the hell?" Peter turned at Drax's words.

"Look!" Jemma gasped, clutching at his arm. He put his hand over hers automatically, staring.

It was warm in the Playground, mid-summer. May had left her jacket off and worn only a short-sleeved black T-shirt with her cargo pants. And as she held Drax's hand, staring up into his eyes, marks were beginning to curl and twist up her arm. They weren't red like his, but a light brown, looking almost like henna on her pale skin, but the patterns were a perfect match to the huge warrior's.

"Peter," Gamora came to his other side, her eyes wide, "that's how his people find their soulmates. It's triggered by touch…"

They all stared, dumbfounded, as May reached her free hand up to touch Drax's face. He turned his head, pressed a kiss to her palm, and the marks started to curl down that arm as well.

"Uh," Gamora said suddenly, "one more thing I know about his people's mating rituals…"

"What?" Jemma peered at her, eyes bright with fascination.

"Once those marks are all over her, we had _really_ better not be in this room. He'll go into, ah, _rut_, and kill anyone in the vicinity who's not his mate…"

Jemma looked at the marks that were already covering May's arms, curling and twining up her neck. Then she looked up at Peter.

"RUN AWAY BRAVELY!" Peter yelled.

There was almost a crush getting through the door, and then Gamora and Peter started grabbing the nearest heavy items of furniture and piling them in front of the door. Seeing their urgency, Mack and Hunter piled in to help.

"But May…" Phil started.

"Will be fine!" Gamora said.

A snarl from behind the door made them all freeze, and then they heard May's voice in a throaty moaning tone none of them had ever heard from her before.

"Oh, Drax, _yes_…"

"Let's run away some more. Someplace not in earshot," Peter suggested hastily.

"We should make you and Jemma stay and listen, we have to listen to you two all the damn time," Rocket grumbled.

Eyes swung to Jemma. She blushed.

"Phil, do you still keep that bar in your office? I could definitely do with a drink."

**996 words.**

**Damn, I crack myself up sometimes.**

**Couldn't resist Peter's "**_**Run Away Bravely!"**_** line, which if you didn't recognise it is from one of the greatest movies of all time, **_**Monty Python And The Holy Grail**_**. Certain other quotes from that particular film may be making an appearance in further Shorts soon…**


	66. I'll Never Leave You Again (Bucky & Sif)

**I'll Never Leave You Again**

_Bucky/Sif_

WinterWar

**Theme song:**

**Phil Collins – Against All Odds**

**Time-wise, this occurs a few days after the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Bucky's just been to the Howling Commandos exhibit at the Smithsonian…**

"I could almost think you wish to keep me company, little sister," Heimdall rumbled, watching Sif carefully. She had taken to visiting the Bifrost chamber a great deal of late, and he did _not_ think it was for the pleasure of his company. Her spine stiffened as she stood with her back to him at the observation window, though she said nothing.

"I cannot follow your gaze, but I know you bend it upon Midgard."

"I have friends there now," she responded after a moment. "The Son of Coul and his men and women of SHIELD."

Heimdall walked to stand beside her, focussing briefly. "You watch while they sleep? I had not thought you a voyeur, sister."

A flush very faintly touched her high cheekbones.

"Come; do not seek to deceive me. What is it that piques your interest? You cannot always be here to watch over whoever it is that you look at so often."

Sif sighed and turned from the window; looked up into her brother's golden eyes. "A man."

"Indeed!" Heimdall tilted his head, and then smiled. "You have been alone a long time, sister. Do you follow Thor's example and look for a consort among the Midgardians? They live fleeting lives."

"Not this one," Sif murmured, looking back out again. "Born of Midgard, he was made against his will into something more. He – intrigues me. Broken and made anew, he has become far more than the sum of his parts."

To Heimdall, she would forever be his tomboyish baby sister, the little girl with scraped knees who pestered him to teach her to use a sword until he gave in and began the secret lessons which had set her on the path she followed yet. But Sif was a woman grown, with a woman's needs and wants. She had been married, had lost her beloved husband to Lorelei's schemes. Had declined an arranged marriage with Thor because she knew what love was and wished to wait for it to find her again.

Impulsively, Heimdall bent and kissed the top of Sif's head. "Go to him."

"What?" she started.

"Go to him. Now. Find out if he could be something to you. Do not waste time, Sif, Midgardians have so little of it, and even if he does live longer than most I know you would not have chosen any man other than a warrior, and warriors do fall in battle. You would regret it if you were not at his side." Heimdall drew his sword and climbed the steps to the Bifrost mechanism.

"What, wait! Now?" Sif looked down at herself frantically. She wasn't wearing her armour, or even a nice gown, but plain leather pants and an old tunic, since she'd come here directly from a practice bout with Fandral. _At least I have my sword_, was the last thought that came to her as Heimdall grinned and the Bifrost whirled her away.

Bucky – _that's my name, I really am Bucky Barnes_ – spun as a crashing rumble sounded behind him. His hand closed on the knife in his pocket. He had no other weapons at the moment, but he'd been planning to remedy that. There were plenty of criminals in the back alleys of Washington, DC. The city wouldn't miss a few of the more heavily armed ones.

A woman rose from a kneeling position in the middle of the dark street. Strange golden symbols flared around her for a moment before slowly dissipating. She locked eyes with Bucky and he stared, because even when he was locked down deep in the Asset's personality he'd still have thought she was the most beautiful dame he ever laid eyes on. Night-black hair tumbled to her shoulders and she had the most stunning face, pale and perfectly sculpted with wide, clear eyes…

"Look out!" he yelled suddenly, seeing a car come speeding around the corner. She was right in its path…

… and she was inhumanly fast.

"Okay, that's not cool," he pulled his knife, although looking at the big-ass sword on her back he had the distinct feeling that he was very much outgunned. _Out-weaponed?_ Something. "Fuck off, HYDRA bitch. I'm not going back." Not much point threatening _her_, so he put the knife to his own throat, pressed the tip in just above his Adam's apple. One hard thrust would sever the brain stem. They wouldn't get their Asset back from that.

Sif cried out in distress as she saw what he was doing. Saw the resigned determination in his blue eyes.

"No! I promise, I am not here to harm you!"

"Ain't only ever seen but one person move as fast as you do, and there's only one Captain America. The only other people messing with enhancements are HYDRA. So I know who you are. I'm not going back."

He pressed the knife a little deeper, and blood started to trickle down his throat.

"Please," a tear ran down Sif's cheek. "Please, I'll go. Don't harm yourself. Please." She took several steps back, looked up at the sky. "Heimdall!"

Nothing happened.

"Heimdall, _now_! I _will_ not endanger him!"

Bucky lowered the knife.

HYDRA had been _very_ interested in Thor and Loki. There'd been what could only be described as a sudden craze for Norse mythology, and while the Asset hadn't exactly been briefed on what they'd concluded, he'd _heard_ plenty.

"You're from Asgard." That – explained everything. The glowing symbols on the road, the super-speed, her strange clothes, that big-ass sword.

"Yes." She ceased shouting for Heimdall – _and damn her meddling brother to Hel!_ – once she saw he'd lowered the knife. "I am Sif."

"I've heard of you." She'd turned up on a SHIELD mission, not long before SHIELD went south. Of course HYDRA had read all the reports.

"I'm not here to hurt you, James Buchanan Barnes." She had beautiful eyes, silver-grey in her pale face. He saw in them only sympathy.

"I'm so tired." The knife clattered to the ground at his feet.

"I know." Sif approached slowly, gently, her hands held in front of her and well away from her sword. "Come with me. Please. This world has been too cruel to you."

"Oh," his confused brain suddenly made sense of it all. "You're a Valkyrie. I'm dying?"

"No, and no!" Sif shook her head. "Please, come with me to Asgard. Our healers can help you, give you back the parts of your memory that are lost."

"I'm not sure I want them," he said honestly.

"That is your choice. But you are a hero, James Buchanan Barnes, and on Asgard you will be treated as one. Here on Midgard they will never understand, never accept what you are. Please."

He looked at her outstretched hands. She was right. Even Steve would never be able to accept what he was now, what HYDRA had made of him. A fresh start in a new place would be – something he could never have here.

Slowly he reached out his hand, his human hand. The metal one wasn't working properly without tech maintenance he couldn't do himself. Perhaps on Asgard they could help him fix that too…

Their hands met and a white light flared around them. Heat raced up Bucky's arm, but it was a pleasurable feeling. Sif's eyes met his, wide with amazement.

"_Haldor?_" she gasped.

"Bucky," he said, shaking his head.

_No wonder I was enthralled from afar. Oh, Haldor, your soul has come back to me at last._

The light faded out, and Bucky looked down in amazement at the silvery-white rune on his palm. "What is it?"

Sif showed him her matching mark. "A soul-mark. You are my soulmate." She was staring at him with a wide, joyous smile and tears running down her cheeks. "So long have I waited for you to come back to me. So very long."

"Don't cry. Beautiful dame like you shouldn't cry." He wanted to hold her, wipe those tears off her perfect face. Kiss her until she forgot all about crying. He tugged lightly on her fingers and she stepped into his arms, fitting there perfectly like she'd always belonged there. Something strange tugged at Bucky's mind, something that didn't seem to fit with _any_ of his memories. "I'll never leave you again," he whispered against Sif's dark hair.

**1383 words.**

**Fuck the word limit, I say. FUCK IT.**

**Once I'd come up with this concept, I didn't particularly care how many words it took.**

**If you didn't get what was going on – hundreds of years ago, Sif was married to a man named Haldor, who was one of the finest of Asgard's warriors. Lorelei stole his loyalty with her magic and he was killed in one of her schemes. This is why Sif hates Lorelei so much, it's nothing to do with Thor. I came up with the idea that Bucky is Haldor's soul reborn, and although Sif doesn't know, she becomes fascinated with him anyway.**

**Now I know quite a few of you loved Skye/Victor von Doom and wanted to see more. I've got good news and bad news. The good news – and the really good news – is that there is a sequel, by the really funny and talented storieaddict. The bad news? Ao3 only. You can contact me if you don't know what that is or have trouble finding the fic. And while you're over there, check out the Soulmate Shorts there for entertainingly humorous manips of the couples from all of the Shorts…**


	67. You're Really Good At That (Jemma&Angel)

**You're Really Good At That**

_Jemma/Angel_

ScienceAngel

Theme song:

Rob Thomas – Lonely No More

**This one falls in the same AU as May/Logan (What Are You?) and Skye/Colossus (The Brute Squad). In this particular AU, the X-Men and Xavier's Academy exist alongside SHIELD and the regular MCU. With both May and Skye partnered with X-Men, the teams are slowly getting to know each other. Consequently, when Warren Worthington III throws a big party at his mansion on New Year's Eve, Coulson's whole team are invited along even though only May and Skye have met him before.**

_What am I doing here?_ Jemma wandered through the spacious halls of the magnificent mansion, feeling utterly out of place. There were superheroes everywhere, X-Men, the Avengers, Fantastic Four – this was _not_ a party for normal people.

_And yet, here I am. As usual at a party, being a wallflower_. Several of the younger X-Men had tried to draw her into their chatter – Fitz had joined them willingly when Jubilee fluttered her eyelashes at him – but Jemma felt out of place with them and wandered on. She knew a lot of the people present, of course, was on friendly terms with a lot. Johnny Storm winked at her and called; "Hey, you gorgeous nerd, when am I going to get that date?"

"When hell freezes over," Jemma smiled sweetly at him and moved on, grinning at Hawkeye who was chuckling into his beer at her put-down of the Human Torch.

She glanced into a smoky room and saw a group playing cards; Tony Stark, Hunter and Bobbi, Remy LeBeau and Logan with a cigar clamped between his teeth and May beside him. Logan glanced up and saw her.

"Hey, Jemma. Can we deal you in?"

"No empty seats," she pointed out, shaking her head.

"There's room on my lap, _cher_," LeBeau grinned at her.

"Only for your ego, Gambit," Jemma smiled at him when he clutched his heart and pretended to be wounded, and moved on again, waving her hand in front of her face to clear the smoke. Glancing into another room she moved hastily on when she realised that the couple entwined on the couch were Skye and Piotr. She'd _definitely_ be intruding there.

She'd reached the end of the corridor, and a door that led out onto a balcony.

_A little fresh air to clear my head_, she thought, and opened the door to slip out. She was leaning on the stone balustrade when a slight movement behind her made her let out an involuntary scream.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you."

It was her host, Worthington himself, the tall, beautiful blond with the magnificent white wings.

"I saw you leave the party, are you not enjoying yourself, Jemma?" he came to lean on the balcony beside her. They'd been introduced earlier but not had a chance to speak in the crush.

Hand to her pounding heart, Jemma stared up at him. Trying to compose herself. It had to be a coincidence that the mutant known as Angel had just spoken her soulmark words. _Had _to be. _Surely_?

Warren had been watching the pretty scientist all night. Slight and graceful, she'd slipped through the crowd like a ghost, never quite fitting into any one group, though it was obvious many of his guests considered her a friend. Her smiles were fleeting but genuine, he thought, but he also thought she felt out of place, _apart_ from the others. Much like himself. So when he saw her slip outside, he'd followed, intent on making her feel more comfortable in his home. He wanted to see her smile more.

And now she was staring up at him from wide eyes, pink tongue slipping out to moisten her lips in a way that suddenly had his body perking up with interest. His wings lifted involuntarily, feathers stirring in the chilly night air.

"Are you cold?" he asked suddenly, realising the dress she was wearing – gold, sparkly and fitted to a very nice figure, _hell yes_ he'd noticed – was sleeveless and her arms were bare. Almost instinctively he stepped closer, folding his wings around her to shield her from the cold wind, only realising a moment later what an intimate thing he'd just done; he might as well have pulled her into his arms.

Jemma let out a gasp of shock as Angel's immense wings folded around her. Pure white, warm and unbelievably soft, it was like being wrapped in a cloud of feathers. She couldn't quite help a sensual little sigh, leaning into the feeling.

"My best friend Jemma," Skye had said while making the introductions. Warren thought it was a pretty name, practical. It suited her. He murmured it now, his hands coming up to catch her elbows as she swayed backwards against his wings. Her eyes were sensuously half-lidded – _oh what the hell, I'm gonna kiss her._

He kissed fabulously, warm firm lips seeking over hers, hot tongue stroking lightly at her lips until she parted them, then slipping into her mouth to taste her. All the while strong arms held her close and those amazing wings cradled her gently.

"Um," Jemma sagged against him when he finally lifted his head. "Wow, you're really good at that."

Warren blinked in astonishment, and then he started to grin. "Somehow, I never thought my soulmate would be complimenting me on my kissing technique when she spoke my words."

He was right; that startled look before _had_ been because he said her words. Jemma looked surprised again.

"Really?"

He was wearing one of his specially made tops with multiple zips, built to comfortably accommodate his wings. Reaching down now, he opened one running across his chest, showed her the words across his left pectoral muscle.

"Oh," Jemma stared at the words in her neat writing. "But – we seem so _unlikely_. You're a billionaire superhero and I'm just…"

"_Mine_," he said possessively, gathering her closer with his wings. Bending his head to kiss her again.

"Jumpin' the gun, aintcha Angel?"

Only the Wolverine would _dare_ to interrupt at a time like this. Warren lifted his head and glared.

"Ain't midnight yet," Logan smirked around his cigar. "Now put Jemma down before May sees you and gets cross."

"If you think I'm waiting until midnight to kiss my soulmate, you can dream on. Don't let the door hit you in the ass."

Logan was so shocked the cigar actually fell out of his mouth. "_Your_ soulmate?"

Warren didn't even bother to answer him, he was so busy kissing Jemma again.

**999 words.**

**So, I got my social-media-phobic arse in gear and made a tumblr, if you didn't know yet. It's called ozhawkauthor and I plan on sharing extra little headcanon snippets, tasty photos of the MCU men who are my inspiration, and more. Pop on over and say hi, and please share some of the story posts around for me!**


	68. Is It Just Me? (Pepper & Bucky)

**Is It Just Me?**

_Bucky/Pepper_

Pecky? Or possibly Pucky? Both hilarious…

**Theme song:**

**Powderfinger – Lost And Running**

**Note: In any AU where I pair Pepper (or Tony) with anyone else, the two of them are not together. They broke up sometime soon after Iron Man 3, when she'd recovered from Extremis. They're still really close friends, she still runs SI, and everything's amicable.**

Barnes was like the Tower's resident ghost, Pepper thought. Steve hadn't had to track him down, in the end. He'd just turned up one day in the lobby. JARVIS had recognised him at once and put the place on lockdown until Bruce – the only Avenger in residence – arrived, talked to Barnes and discovered that he was, in fact, _Barnes_. Mostly. The poor man had gaps in his memory that would most likely never be filled.

Pepper had never spoken to him. Tony – and JARVIS – were very protective of her and cautious of Barnes, so the two of them had been living in the same building for a month before they even came face to face, and then Barnes' huge sapphire eyes just widened and he was gone before she could even say _Hello_.

The second time she saw him, he came into the kitchen in the middle of the night when she had her mouth full. She'd just got back from Japan on SI business that evening. A short nap later and she was jet-lagged and starving. So she headed to the common kitchen – no point looking in her fridge, she'd been away for a week – and found some leftover kung pao chicken. It looked reasonably fresh, so she zapped it in the microwave and was sitting at the counter shovelling it in when Barnes slipped into the room.

They stared at each other for a moment – Pepper's cheeks bulging like a hamster – and then he was gone again.

"Is it just me, or does Barnes run away from everybody?" Pepper asked Steve the following day. "Because if that's so, I really think he needs more therapy."

Steve grinned. "You should feel flattered."

"I… don't?"

"Buck's fine with everyone except beautiful women. When he was with HYDRA, the only beautiful women he saw tended to be the not-nice kind – Red Room like Natasha used to be, for example. He's all right with Tasha now, but other beautiful women trigger something and his flight instinct activates. He mentioned to me that he'd seen you a few times and fled, and asked me if I'd tell you please not to be offended, but you're so beautiful he can't cope."

Pepper couldn't help but blush, even though she knew it was a deeply unflattering look with her strawberry-blonde hair and freckles. _Barnes thinks I'm beautiful. Bucky Barnes, the man who looks like an S+M version of a GQ model.._. "Well," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "please tell him that I'd never hurt him and he doesn't have to be afraid of me. I don't want him to feel uncomfortable, but we do both live here…"

Steve was giving her a knowing, amused look. Pepper resisted the urge to run like a scared rabbit herself.

The third time Pepper saw Bucky Barnes, he saved her life.

She was touring a manufacturing plant when the bullets started flying. She'd had absolutely no idea that one of the four silent suited bodyguards following her around was Barnes until he moved with inhuman speed to throw her to the ground, flinging himself on top of her as a shield, holding up his metal arm. The bullets _spanged_ off it even as he whipped a gun out and returned fire.

"Are you all right?" Bucky asked once the shooters were all down. He left his fellow guards to mop up, more concerned about Pepper's safety. "Were you hit?" He stared down into her shocked, turquoise-blue eyes. He'd asked Hill to assign him to Pepper's bodyguard duty because he needed to get used to being in her proximity without having to speak to her. She was so accustomed to having silent guards around her now she regarded them as furniture, never looking at them properly, even though she always smiled and said thank you when one of them opened a door for her or such. Not that Bucky ever got that close. But when the bullets started flying his body had reacted outside his conscious control, instinct taking over to protect her with his own body.

"You cut your hair," Pepper said inconsequentially, vaguely aware that was an extremely odd thing to be worried about in the wake of being shot at and then Barnes speaking to her. Saying her soulmark words, no less.

Sapphire-blue eyes widened, a black eyebrow quirked. "Had to. Wasn't going to find my soulmate until after I had."

"Oh. _Oh!_" Pepper stared up at him. At that GQ-model face, at the full pink lips that looked so incongruously sensual on a man. "You're talking to me now."

"Bit rude not to since I'm lyin' on top of ya, huh? Soulmate."

Pepper couldn't help staring at his mouth, as it widened in a smirky grin. This, she thought, _this_ is the James Buchanan Barnes who was Steve Rogers' best friend. The ladies' man, the joker, the charmer.

"I won't put up with you playing around on me," she warned. "I had enough of that with Tony."

"Why would I want to?" Bucky was honestly puzzled. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on." Realising he had to be crushing her, he stood and helped her to her feet, but quickly hustled her over to a corner of the room and blocked her in with his body, shielding her until he got the all-clear in his earpiece.

He was a couple of inches taller than her even in high heels. And so _strong_. Pepper pretty much melted as Bucky caged her in with his arms, leaning in to murmur in her ear.

"I'm on the clock so I'm not gonna kiss ya now. But later on," he gave her a heated, meaningful look, "I'm gonna find out just how spicy you are, my Pepper."

Her knees wouldn't hold her up. He had to carry her to the car, claiming she was too shocked to walk.

Which she was. Just not in the way the other bodyguards thought.

**998 words.**

**I don't think I'd be able to stand up if Bucky told me he wanted to find out how I tasted, either…**

**UNF.**


	69. You Are My Goddess (Skye & Hogun)

**You Are My Goddess**

_Skye/Hogun _

Skygun? _– _or possibly GrimQuake, which is quite appropriate for this fic…

**Theme song:**

**The Fray – Love Don't Die**

"Sir!" Fitz came belting into Coulson's office, Mack on his heels, waving a tablet. "It's the. The."

"Readings," Mack said.

"Yes, like when Lady Sif came…"

"The Bifrost!" Phil shot out of his chair. "Where? New Mexico?"

Fitz shook his head and pointed at the floor.

"Here," Mack said helpfully.

The Playground's alarms began to shrill.

"Stand down!" Coulson leaped for his desk and pushed a button. "Stand down, it's visitors from Asgard! Assume they're friendlies!"

"Not much we can do about it if they're not," Mack said wryly.

"True, but let's not go looking for trouble. Hopefully, it's Sif…"

It _was_ Sif, looking worried, accompanied by a tall, silent black-haired warrior with an Asiatic face and more weaponry than a human would be able to carry and remain standing. Phil knew his face, though not his name.

"Son of Coul," Sif began without preamble, "we are here to beg your aid."

"Anything we can do, my lady, we are in your debt," Phil said immediately. He'd invited them into the conference room; May was the only other person present.

"Would you summon the one known as Skye?"

Caught off guard, Phil blinked. May left the room silently and returned a minute later with Skye, who'd been lurking in the corridor with the others. She greeted Sif politely and looked at the warrior curiously. _Looks like a samurai_, Skye thought, taking in the weapons. He returned her stare from flat black eyes.

"This is Hogun," Sif introduced finally. "One of the Warriors Three. He is not, though, Asgardian, but Vanir, of Vanaheim. And it is on Hogun's behalf that we are here."

They all looked at Hogun. Who still didn't speak.

"An attack on Vanaheim was repelled," Sif continued, "but not before the attackers impacted a large kinetic strike on the planet's surface. There has been a massive tectonic plate shift and earthquakes and volcanoes threaten the Vanir's very civilisation."

Skye suddenly understood why they wanted _her_.

"Skye, we understand from Heimdall's observations that you are able to control quakes, to direct them. Please, we are here to beg your aid."

"But," she said, "I don't – I've only worked with small quakes…" she gasped as Hogun lowered himself to his knees before her.

"Lady Skye, I beg of you," he said in a quiet, deep voice. "You are the only hope for thousands of my people."

She really didn't have any option but to say yes, after that.

Two hours later, she had set foot on not one but two alien worlds: a brief stop on Asgard for Heimdall to redirect the Bifrost – apparently Asgard was the central axis – and then on to Vanaheim. Where they landed in the middle of a huge plain. A city sparkled in the distance – and a wide crack snaking rapidly across the ground warned Skye of the terrible danger beneath. The tectonic plate was _cracking_ – she went to her knees and put her hands on the earth immediately.

She lost count of how many hours they worked. Hogun had a sort of flying skiff which they used to skim from one site to another, Skye doing her best at every place to contain and redirect the earthquakes into harmless tremors. They'd started at the most dangerous site and worked their way down a seemingly endless list, but she would not stop. Not when she could see the fear in Hogun's eyes, behind the grim mask of his handsome features.

She was shaking with weariness and leaning on Sif's arm by the time night fell.

"Time to rest," Sif said quietly. "Come. We will take you to the city for the night. You must rest."

"No," Skye said. "No, I can keep going – can you fly this thing in the dark?" she turned to Hogun.

"Yes, but Sif is right. You must rest."

"No." Her voice cracked with exhaustion. "No, I can still help!"

"You must rest." He'd said little all day, only stood at her side and flown the skiff with grim concentration, communicating with some central authority as they worked. "Lady Skye, my people will be singing hymns to your name for a thousand years, for your actions today. But they would rather worship you as a living goddess than a dead one. The worst danger is over; the Vanir will sleep safe tonight. Come."

His black eyes were peaceful for the first time that day, and slowly, Skye allowed herself to believe him. She reached out to take the large hand he held out to her, suddenly feeling as though she might not be able to climb into the skiff without his support.

They both screamed as the pain seared them. Sif started and drew her sword, and then stared as she realised what was happening. And then Skye pulled her hand away.

"My soulmate!" Hogun gasped out, holding up his hand, marked all over with runes and symbols, an exact match to the ones appearing on Skye's hand. "You're my _soulmate_!"

"Oh," she stared at her hand, and then at Hogun's. A vague, weary smile came to her face. "That's nice." And she collapsed into his arms.

Skye awoke to find herself a heroine to the Vanir. They were chanting her name in the streets of Lireigh, the capital city. Calling her Princess Skye, which confused her thoroughly until Hogun admitted that his grandfather was actually the King and that as his soulmate the title was hers by right.

"I don't think I'll be very good at the princess thing," Skye said worriedly, looking down at the cheering throng in the great square before the castle.

Hogun put his hands on her shoulders, turned her gently to face him. He was no longer grim, a wide smile softening his face whenever he looked at her. "You are more than a princess to me. You are my goddess."

"Well," a small smile came to Skye's mouth, "I don't think I'd mind a bit of worshipping, if it was from you?"

**998 words.**

**Hogun could worship me too, the sexy badass. I've always had a weakness for the strong silent type. Mm mm.**

**(His grandfather's not actually a king. That we know about. But it makes perfect sense that a prince of the Vanir might be sent to Asgard to learn the ways of war and diplomacy, doesn't it?)**


	70. Red In The Ledger (Ward & Natasha)

**Red In The Ledger **

_Ward/Natasha_

BlackWard

Theme song:

Nickelback – Lullaby ("Please let me take you/Out of the darkness and into the light…")

**Whoah, I have to write Ward as a good guy! *Wrenching mental twist* All right, good to go!**

**So, this one fits, timewise, quite soon after Puerto Rico. SHIELD kicked up so much shit the Avengers came to investigate what the fuck was going on. They found out Coulson was alive and after some angry confrontations, things settled down. And Phil asked Natasha for a very quiet favour…**

**TRIGGER WARNINGS: Ward is in a suicidal state of mind in this fic, until Natasha catches up with him.**

"Agent Grant Ward." Phil slid the tablet in front of Natasha. She sat back with it, read the file swiftly. Looked up.

"Looks like he's a fucking pain in your ass," she said succinctly, and Phil half-smiled.

"He's the finest Specialist I've seen since Barton. But he was Garrett's man."

"Ugh," Natasha made a face.

"Yeah, that. Garrett took him, twisted him, made him into a perfect weapon, and then infiltrated my team with the bastard. He came so close to taking us down, Nat, I don't even want to think about it. And he's been a thorn in our sides ever since. He and Skye were close, he was her SO, and there was – _something_ between them, I don't think either of them could quite define it. He got more than a little obsessed."

Natasha was listening silently. Without judging.

"Skye had the chance to end him in San Juan. She couldn't do it. She shot him four times in the back – in a bulletproof vest." He nodded at Natasha's grimace. "She's very young. She's never had to kill up close and personal before, and certainly not someone she once cared about."

There was silence between them for a moment.

"You want me to deal with the problem." It wasn't a question.

Phil nodded. "After what happened to Skye in San Juan, the last thing she needs is more emotional upheaval. I have the terrible feeling that Ward's going to flip the other way, go from wanting to 'save' her to just deciding to kill her because she's dangerous now."

"We can't have that," Natasha said quietly. She'd taken to Skye almost instantly, taken the emotionally damaged young girl under her wing. "I'll take care of it, Phil."

"Quietly."

She smiled, laying the tablet down and rising. "Of course. That's why you asked me and not Clint, hm?"

Grant Ward sat at the rickety table with his head in his hands. A gun lay on the scratched timber before him and for at least the twentieth time that week he debated putting it in his mouth and pulling the trigger.

_God, I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong._

He'd genuinely believed in Skye's father. Right up until the moment when he saw the _thing_ that used to be Raina come up out of the tunnels, and realised what appalling danger Skye had been in. Cal had put her in that danger, used her for his own selfish ends. Skye hadn't wanted to go down there, and he, Ward, had forced her into a position where she had no choice. Four bullets in the back had been the least of what he deserved.

His hand reached for the gun. _Just end it. You ruined everything_.

But a slight sound behind him made him turn to look at the woman asleep on the bed, her face heavily bandaged. Agent 33 was sleeping off the effects of the anaesthetic. He'd brought her here, to Columbia, emptied his local safe-deposit box and taken her to a black-market cosmetic surgeon who'd finally been able to remove the damaged face veil and restore her own face. She couldn't remember her real name, and he'd never known it, so finally they settled on Angela. She was posing as his sister. They looked enough alike, with dark hair and eyes, for it to be believable.

He couldn't leave Angela alone. She was like a child, lost and confused without Whitehall's direction. She wouldn't last a day on the mean streets of Bogotà. She _needed_ him, at least until she could find some way to function on her own.

Ward sighed and took his hand off the gun, dropped his head into his hands again. He was so unhappy, exhausted, and generally _done_ with _everything_, that he never even heard the door open. He only looked up, startled, when the chair opposite his scraped on the rough wooden floor. His eyes snapped wide as the beautiful redhead sat down, and he grabbed for the gun – which was in her hand, pointing at him.

For a long moment he stared at her in silence. "Just do it then," he said. "End me."

He sat, waiting for the bullet, and when it didn't come something else occurred to him. "But please look after Angela," he added, gesturing at the sleeping woman. "She needs help."

_Is he my soulmate?_ Natasha wondered, staring at the handsome man sitting opposite her. His file showed that he was less than a year younger than she was, and she didn't know if she'd been born with her mark or it had come sometime in her infancy, so she couldn't be sure. Not yet.

_Phil wants me to end him._

_I'm thinking I don't have to …_

"There's red in your ledger," she said quietly. "I'm here to give you a chance to wipe it out."

His jaw dropped, the blank mask of his expression replaced by pure astonishment. "_What?_"

She smiled, tipping her head slightly to one side. "The Red Room taught me that I had to kill my soulmate, when and if I found him. I chose to break their indoctrination. Make my own choices. Can you break past what Garrett did to you, Grant Ward?"

He looked at the gun in her hand, still pointed rock-steady at his head. "I broke free of Garrett long ago. Left all my past in flames."

"I know." She knew what he'd done to his family. She also knew they'd deserved every bit of it, and more. "I can offer you a future. A cause to fight for."

"The Avengers?" He smiled bitterly. "That's no place for the likes of me."

"I thought they wouldn't want me either." Natasha shrugged, fluid and graceful, and he couldn't help but follow the movement with his eyes. "But I've earned my place. All I can offer you is a chance – _one_ chance – to earn yours."

He stared into her green eyes, and slowly – very slowly – Grant Ward nodded.

**1000 words exactly.**

**I dunno. Ward's sexy but I still hate his guts. I daresay I hate him so much now because I thought he was so hot throughout most of the first season – which is Skye's problem too I think.**

**This was tough for me to write because in my general headcanon Ward's a complete raving lunatic. Not so much evil as just stone cold bonkers. And man does he EVER have a lot of red in that ledger to wipe out, but I guess if anyone would understand, it would be Natasha…**


	71. I'll Be Gentle (SteveSif)

**I'll Be Gentle**

_Steve/Sif_

WarCaptain

**Theme song:**

**Delta Goodrem – Innocent Eyes**

Steve was firmly convinced that all Asgardians were mad, by human definition, anyway. They certainly seemed to have no sense of personal danger. Or even personal boundaries. Take the woman who'd turned up with Thor and his friends today; tall and stunning by any standards, she'd been eyeing him more boldly than he was at all comfortable with for a good ten minutes. And oh good Lord now she was coming over, her silver-grey eyes fixed on his.

He looked around frantically, but there was really no easy escape; she was between him and the exits. He was going to have to stand there and try to deal with flirting – _did Asgardians flirt like human women, even?_

"You intrigue me. Would you care to share my bed for a night?"

_Oh. Even more direct, then._

"I, um," Steve turned beet red and stuttered. "I, um, really flattered, but, um…"

Sif cocked her head. "I apologise. I have embarrassed you."

"I… yes."

"Yes I have embarrassed you, or yes you would like to accept my offer?" She was amused. He looked so tall and strong and unflappable, this Captain of America, and yet she had seen the blush on his cheeks when she was introduced to him, the shy, admiring glances he had cast in her direction.

"Uhn." Steve's power of speech failed completely.

"I see." Sif cast him one more regretful look up and down – it could have been a _really_ good night – and turned away.

"Wait!" Oh hell, he'd been unforgivably rude. The offer had utterly floored him though – not least because he suddenly wanted very much to say yes, even though he _knew_ he shouldn't. Except _she_ obviously didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with it, and he suspected he was the only man in the room who'd even contemplate turning down such an offer.

Even Clint had given Sif a long appreciative look until Natasha had drawn a small knife and pressed it against his ribs. The archer had laughed in his easy way then and looked away, but not before giving Steve a speculative look as he saw Sif's eyes turned in Steve's direction.

Steve reached out a hand to Sif, and it landed on her forearm before he wondered if he should touch her. She might whip out that big-ass sword and chop his hand off…

"Aiii," he let out a sharp hiss of breath as the pain hit, for an instant wondered what she'd done, but then she was letting out a cry of shock, her other hand coming up to press his against her forearm, huge silvery eyes turned up to his wonderingly.

"What the hell?" Steve gasped as the pain receded. He pulled his hand back, and Sif let him, though she stared at him wonderingly. "What was that?" He looked at the palm of his hand, and saw to his amazement a mark filling in there, all silver and black, looking rather like a sword across a shield.

"Look," Sif said softly, showing him her forearm where he'd touched her. A perfect replica of his shield appeared, red, white and blue.

"What the – what does that mean?" Steve had never seen anything like it.

Except… the mark shaped like a hammer on Jane Foster's palm…

"Soulmates," Sif said, her eyes shining up at him. "You are my soulmate, Steven Rogers. Oh, you are everything I might have hoped for – a warrior without peer, my equal in truth!"

"Er," was about all Steve could get out as she threw herself at him. His arms closed around her almost automatically, and then she was up on tiptoe and plastering her lips to his.

_Oh. Well – this is nice…_

_This is a whole lot better than nice, who am I trying to kid?_

By the time Sif let go – and she'd wrapped her extremely strong arms around his neck, so it was she who decided when the kiss ended – he was scarlet to his hairline – and absolutely everyone was staring at them, gobsmacked.

"My soulmate," Sif announced proudly, holding up her arm. "We go now to complete our bond."

"Uh," he hadn't thought it was possible to get any redder, but his face felt like it was on fire. "We do?"

"Yes. Where is your bedroom?"

Tony was absolutely cackling, and Clint wasn't much better. Natasha laughed aloud, calling across the room;

"Sorry for trying to set you up with all those mortal women, Steve, should have known a goddess would be the only one for you!"

_I'm going to have to get out of here before I spontaneously combust. In more ways than one…_ because Sif was still pressed against him, her arms around his neck, and his body was _extremely_ interested in that fact.

The Asgardians were actually applauding as Sif led him towards the elevator. Even Bruce had a broad grin on his face.

_I am never going to be able to look any of them in the eye again…_

"My floor, please, JARVIS," he told the AI, who was obviously on board with the let's-embarrass-Steve theme because he started playing some slow, smooch blues music. JARVIS never played music in the elevator unless specifically requested, so Steve shot a death stare at the speakers.

"Ah, your quarters. Adequate," Sif said, looking around the comfortable apartment. "Where is your bed?"

Steve gestured, still beet red. She looked at him curiously.

"Why are you embarrassed, Steven? This is the most sacred of joinings, the consummation of a soulbond. Is it not so among your people?"

"Yes, but – I…" he didn't know how to say it.

Sif's expression suddenly cleared. "You waited until you found your soulmate!"

It was easier than saying _no girl would look at me before and then I fell in love with Peggy, only nothing happened, and I've spent the last two years mourning her and fighting_ – so he simply nodded.

"I've never bedded a virgin," Sif said thoughtfully. "Never mind. I'll be gentle!"

**997 words.**

**My headcanon isn't generally virgin!Steve. But I couldn't resist with Sif…**

**And don't forget I'm on tumblr as ozhawkauthor, you can follow me over there for a regular update on what I'm up to!**


	72. We Are So Doomed (Jane & Jemma Platonic)

**We Are So Doomed**

_Jemma/Jane Foster Platonic_

The Science Sisters

Theme song:

Eurythmics – Sisters Are Doin' It For Themselves

**This one fits into **_**What Right Have You**_**, the Jemma/Loki (and Skye/Fandral) continuation being written by Kathryn Claire O'Connor and myself. If you haven't been following along, here's what just happened…**

**Odin got annoyed because Loki and Thor have both been merrily doing the dirty with their respective soulmates, which is in direct contravention of Asgard's more rigid moral code (in my headcanon). So he laid down the law and told Thor and Loki that they would be getting married to Jane and Jemma respectively in nine days' time at a feast, and that Thor needed to go and get Jane and stop procrastinating, because the way he and Loki had been behaving was hurting the reputations of **_**all**_** Midgardian women. Odin also dropped the bombshell that Jane is pregnant, which Thor didn't know. (Cue stunned-Labrador expression).**

**Coulson volunteers to go with Sif (as chaperone) and Thor to collect Jane, because somehow he doesn't think Jane is going to take all that well to being ordered to go to Asgard and get married.**

**Funnily enough, he's right…**

Jane hadn't been expecting Thor back for a couple of days, since she knew he was escorting some of Coulson's team to Asgard to visit Jemma and Loki. He'd pressed her to go along, but Jane honestly wasn't ready yet. Not after the last time she'd been there and Queen Frigga had died defending her. How could she possibly face Odin – who already disapproved of her for being Thor's _human_ soulmate – after _that_?

_Would she ever be ready? _Jane mused, dragging herself slowly out of bed. She'd slept in that morning – well, afternoon – since she had, as usual, been in the lab until the early hours of the morning.

All right, she'd been there until sunrise when Bruce came in from his dawn yoga and all but threw her out.

It was just all so _interesting_. Her stomach churned as she headed to the bathroom and she groaned.

"Not again! I even ate dinner!" Tony had come by with pizza about midnight and the pair of them had sat up late doing crazy maths and building things.

_Oh God, yes again_ – she barely made it to the toilet before emptying her stomach. She was sitting on the floor, resting her forehead against the cool tile wall and feeling thoroughly miserable when Thor's booming voice filled the apartment.

"Jane? Are you here?"

_Fantastic, I've just spewed my guts up for no apparent reason and my god-boyfriend turns up_… but it was Sif who appeared in the doorway, looking down at her.

"Lady Jane? Oh dear – she is suffering from the morning nausea, Thor."

"What do you mean, the morning nausea?" Jane said weakly as Sif picked her up easily.

Sif sighed as she laid Jane gently down on the bed. "Damn Odin. _You_ didn't even know," she muttered. "You're with child, Lady Jane."

"I'm _what_?" Jane's shriek echoed around the apartment.

It took the combined efforts of Sif and Phil – Jane started throwing things at Thor – to calm her down from _that_ revelation. And then Phil had to break it to her that Odin had ordered her to Asgard to get married.

"I'm not going," Jane said mutinously. "And you can't make me."

Sif arched a black eyebrow. Jane felt like an idiot. Of _course_ they could make her.

"Jane," Phil said, not unkindly, "You're carrying the next heir to Asgard. I'm not sure how their inheritance laws work – especially considering Loki's status – but Odin is adamant that Thor's child won't be born illegitimate. Plus," he glanced at Sif and coughed, the tips of his ears turning red, "apparently Asgard's moral code is rather more, uh, _old-fashioned_ than I'd realised. There have been incidences of disrespect shown to Jemma because she and Loki are cohabiting, and some, um, not-nice things said about you."

Jane thought about that, her eyes narrowing. "Thought you guys were supposed to be so advanced?" she snapped at Sif. "Oh, get in here," as she spotted Thor hovering outside the door. "I can read between the lines that this wasn't _your_ insane idea, for once."

He gave her his sad-Labrador look and she couldn't help but soften.

"I don't have any choice, do I?"

"I'm sorry, my Jane," he knelt beside the bed and took her hand. "But only in that you feel you have no choice. I have made it clear to you time and again that I want no other but you for my princess."

"Princess, oh hell," Jane muttered. "How's Jemma taking that?" She and Jemma had never spoken, but Jane remembered glimpsing her on the tour of the labs that had barely begun before Jemma accidentally stumbled into Asgard and found herself soulmated to Loki.

"Probably not much better than you," Coulson said dryly.

Jane grinned. "I do think I'm going to like her." Thor had told her laughingly that Jemma took no shit from Loki. Which Jane was very much looking forward to seeing.

"We have orders to escort you to Asgard immediately," Sif said.

"Well it can wait until I've had a shower and changed!" Jane said firmly, "because I'm not going to Asgard in Iron Man pyjamas smelling of puke!" She pointed at Thor. "Go break the news to the others."

"As long as you promise never to wear those pyjamas again," Thor muttered, getting up.

"I wouldn't have been if you were here, but I was cold!" Jane took in Coulson and Sif, both blushing. "Okay, forget I said that. You two go wait outside. I won't be long."

Half an hour later they were on the Bifrost, heading for Asgard. Jane sat before Thor on his saddle – he'd flatly refused to let her ride alone now he knew she was pregnant, and WHOAH still dealing with that idea. Thor's huge hand curved protectively over her stomach, holding her on his lap, and she could already tell he was going to be a completely impossible prospective father.

Sif led them to a chamber Jane didn't recognise, thankfully. She suspected that seeing anywhere where she'd spent time with Frigga would lead to a breakdown right now.

The first person she saw on entering the room was Loki. And she couldn't help walking over and giving him another slap.

"What now?" he exclaimed, hand flying to his abused cheek.

"That's for shagging Jemma when you're supposed to be behaving yourself, you lecherous shit!" She looked at Jemma, hand over her mouth as she started to giggle. "I'm sorry he's so impossible."

"I'm getting used to it," Jemma snickered.

"Wait," it was Thor and Loki who first realised what had just happened, since both of them saw their soulmates' platonic marks far more than Jane and Jemma did. Jane's was on the back of her right thigh, Jemma's between her shoulder-blades. The Princes of Asgard looked at each other, and then at the two lovely, brilliantly clever women laughing and embracing each other, doubtlessly already coming up with ways to make their soulmates' lives hell.

"We are so doomed," Loki said dismally.

**1000 words exactly.**

**Yes, Loki, you are indeed DOOMED. The Princesses of Asgard will have you two idiots whipped into shape in no time. Even you aren't a match for those two brilliant brains ;)**


	73. No Bag Required (Jemma & Pyro)

**No Bag Required**

_Jemma/Pyro_

PyroNerd

**Theme song;**

**The Offspring – Original Prankster**

**This one's a follow-up to the Skye/Iceman Short, **_**D'You Wanna Build A Snowman?**_** (no. 60) Which you might want to reread first, for a refresher on the Frozen theme…**

"Thank you," Jemma accepted a glass of champagne from a white-jacketed waiter and took a small sip. It was good champagne, too, Warren Worthington III had spared no expense on this engagement party he was hosting for one of his closest friends.

_Skye is engaged. I can hardly believe it_. Jemma looked across the room to where Skye stood at Bobby's side, both of them smiling at a tall blond man talking to them. _Skye looks so happy_.

Bobby had been unbelievably good for Skye, his light-hearted attitude and cheerful approach to life a perfect foil for her seriousness and occasional dark moods. He was always ready with a quip or a prank to make her smile, and she smiled so much more now. Even her powers were under far better regulation now that Bobby was teaching her the fine control he'd learned.

John had flown in from Melbourne that very day, had just met Skye, and after making her laugh with a few extravagant compliments – and Frozen jokes – was just in the process of asking her if she knew any nice girls she could introduce him to.

"What's your criteria?" Skye asked with a teasing smile.

"Breathing," Bobby cracked, which made John's hand tighten on the Zippo in his pocket. He didn't pull it out, though, just glared at Bobby briefly.

"Smart," he looked back at Skye. "I like girls I don't have to dumb down for. Can't stand vapid, silly chicks. And – someone who wouldn't be afraid of me. Be nice if I didn't have to put a bag over her head, too, but the first two are honestly more important."

Even Bobby didn't make a crack at that, looking at John with a certain sympathy as he was serious, for once.

Skye smiled. "Well – I know _one_ girl who might fit those requirements. Jemma's a genius. And you wouldn't have to put a bag over her head, either." She beckoned to someone across the room.

"You're a great sheila," John said impulsively. "Bob's lucky to have you." And he turned and leapt up onto a table to propose a toast.

Catching Jemma's eye, Skye waved her over, obviously intending to introduce her to the tall blond. Jemma eyed him. _Well, he was certainly eye candy_. She started making her way across the room, but before she got there the blond had broken away from Skye and Bobby and jumped up onto a nearby table.

"Friends, mutants, and normal people," he declaimed in a broad Australian accent, and the room quieted, though not without a few chuckles, "we are here tonight to celebrate the engagement of my best friend and the woman mad enough to put up with his _chilly_ personality. Raise your glasses please to Skye – and Elsa!"

Jemma couldn't help but giggle, as Bobby shouted "Fuck off, John!" over the cheers and laughter.

John laughed, jumping down off the table. "Bugger, I haven't got a drink." His gaze fell on a pretty, slender girl close by, laughing at his antics. She had a full glass of champagne in hand, so he swiped it, downed it in one gulp and grinned at her. "G'day, beautiful. Cheers."

Jemma blinked. "What did you say?" she said, a bit stupidly, she thought afterwards.

"I said, g'day, beautiful… wait." John stared at her.

"John, you're so rude, you stole Jemma's drink," Bobby reproached, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Jemma, this is John Allerdyce, my best friend, also known as Pyro. John, this is Jemma Simmons…"

"My soulmate," John said in astonishment, as Jemma pulled up the sleeve of her blouse and showed his messy scrawl on her inner forearm. "Well, fuck me sideways."

She blushed, pretty hazel eyes flying wide with shock.

"Uh, not literally – well, not right now – although it's a tempting idea…"

"_John!_" Bobby sounded absolutely scandalised.

"Eh, piss off mate, you met your soulmate in _private_. Cut me some slack." And he reached out and grabbed Jemma's hand. "Come on, beautiful. Let's go somewhere and get to know each other."

"Jemma, are you all right?" Skye asked urgently as John pulled her after him. "You want to go with him?"

"Yes," Jemma said, a bit stunned. "We'll just talk – I'll be back in a bit…"

He pulled her down the hall and through a door into what was apparently a library, closing the door behind them and twisting the key in the lock before turning to look at her.

"_Just_ talk? I was hoping for a _bit_ more, maybe…"

"Talk first!" Jemma said, hastily putting a table between them as he advanced towards her. Because although he was _very_ good-looking and he _was_ her soulmate… "Bobby said they call you Pyro?"

Without even looking, he pointed at the fire in the grate. It had died down to mere glowing coals behind a firescreen, but as he pointed the flames flared high, roaring up the chimney.

"Give me a spark and I'll make an inferno. Bet we'll burn up the sheets real good, beautiful." He stalked towards her and Jemma found herself backing up against a bookcase, breath coming quickly, pupils dilating as he stopped in front of her, one hand coming up to lean on the bookcase beside her head. "What else did you want to talk about?"

She couldn't think of anything but the way his mouth was moving. She had so many questions about how his power worked, about _him_ – and she couldn't think of a single one. "Uhn," she said eloquently.

"We done talking for now, then?" his mouth kicked up in a smirk. Jemma's eyes drifted helplessly shut as he lowered his mouth towards hers.

_Damn, but I'm a lucky bugger_, John thought as he watched Jemma respond to his flirting. Beautiful _and_ brilliant, according to Skye. _Couldn't ask for anything more_.

Jemma's slender arms slid around his neck, and John smiled, closing his eyes as their lips met.

_So this is what heaven tastes like…_

**995 words.**

**I don't think I'd be able to form any coherent thoughts if that smokin' hot hunk of X-Man was bending down to kiss me either, Jemma.**


	74. The Butterfly Effect (Thor & Storm)

**The Butterfly Effect**

_Thor/Storm_

ThunderStorm. Because OBVIOUSLY.

**Theme song:**

**Queen – Bohemian Rhapsody** (Thunder and lightning, very very frightening meeeee….)

"I am _sick and tired_ of cleaning up his _fucking_ mess and I am going to give him a _piece of my mind_!"

The other X-Men watched in amazement as Ororo strode away across the muddy ground.

"I've never, ever seen Storm get angry," Jean murmured to Scott. "Have you?"

He shook his head, still staring as Ororo got into the car and started the engine. "I could almost feel sorry for the poor shmuck when she catches up with him."

"I'm just hoping it doesn't happen in a populated area," Jean sighed, "or there might be even more mess to clean up!"

"Prince Thor," JARVIS interrupted Thor's investigation of the pantry. He'd been hoping that there were more Pop-Tarts, but obviously the housekeeper hadn't done the day's grocery shopping yet.

"Yes, JARVIS, what may I do for you?" Thor said cheerfully. "Have we new enemies to smite?"

"Not today, sir, but there is a visitor for you. She is waiting in the conference room on the sixty-third floor." JARVIS seemed to hesitate for a moment. "She seems rather irate, sir. I do not believe that I would recommend keeping her waiting."

"Hm, well then I shall attend her directly, JARVIS, thank you. What is our esteemed visitor's name?" Thor scooped Mjölnir off the kitchen counter in passing. Friend Stark got very irritated when Mjölnir flew through walls to come to Thor, so he had taken to carrying the hammer with him at all times.

"Ms. Ororo Munroe, sir." JARVIS paused delicately. "I believe that her code name is Storm."

"A kindred spirit!" Thor cried delightedly. "Well, play my theme song to her while you convey me there, JARVIS!" he very much liked the song that the Man of Iron had insisted was _his_ song. It seemed so _appropriate_.

JARVIS wasn't programmed to argue with Thor. Not over things that weren't immediately dangerous. The AI actually mulled for a moment over the wisdom of playing AC/DC to the very angry woman in the conference room, and in the end prudently opted for a lower volume than he might otherwise have used.

Ororo began to grind her teeth at the first bars of _Thunderstruck_. Thor arrived just after the first chorus, striding into the room all tall and blond and godlike. And she stormed over and slapped him hard across the face, so angry the lightning sparked from her fingertips.

_Wow that hurt_, that hurt _way_ more than it should have done, even considering that he was Asgardian… she lifted her hand and stared at the runes etching themselves in across her palm with horror.

Thor wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't the beautiful, white-haired, dark-skinned woman who came marching up and slapped him as soon as he entered the room. It certainly wasn't the pain of a soulmark etching itself in across his stinging cheek.

"What," Ororo said incredulously, "is _that_?" she held her hand up towards him.

"It is a soulmark, my lady, the way it appears among Asgardians," Thor said in wonder. He went to one knee before her, cloak swirling around him. "Hundreds of years have I searched for you…"

"Do you mean that I am going to get stuck with clearing up your mess _forever_?"

Thor looked utterly bemused. "I am not so untidy as all that, I think? My mother would not allow it…"

"Not that!" she couldn't help but melt slightly at his bemused expression. He looked like a golden retriever puppy, all blond gorgeousness and huge eyes. "The lightning, Thor! Every time you summon a lightning storm with that hammer of yours, you leave the most unholy mess behind in the weather patterns, did you not know that? I am a weather witch, I can control _all_ aspects of the weather, and lately all I seem to be doing is clearing up the mess you leave behind!"

Thor's mouth dropped open. "I had no idea," he said blankly. "It is not so on Asgard!"

"This is not Asgard!" She softened further at his remorseful, horrified expression. "The weather is a complicated mechanism, Thor. Have you heard of something called the butterfly effect? It is a theory about how a flap of a butterfly's wings in one place can cause a cyclone somewhere else…"

"Ah, that's an interesting metaphor for quantum mechanics," Thor said with an interested nod. "Oh," he caught on. "You're saying that the lightning strikes I create with Mjölnir…"

"Are a lot more powerful than the flap of a butterfly's wings."

Thor sighed and bent his head. "I am deeply sorry, my lady Storm. It seems that the fates have sent you to me for a reason; yet another subject in which I must be schooled here on Midgard."

Ororo melted. _How could anyone possibly stay angry with that face?_ She held out her hand to him, touched his marked cheek gently. "I apologise for slapping you. I was angry."

He caught her hand in his and kissed it gallantly. "You are forgiven, my lady."

"And I… oh," she finished on a gulp as he rose, towering over her. And standing – really close. _Oh_.

Thor stared down at the beautiful woman who held the other half of his soul. "Perhaps we should try a new beginning, my lady?" he said, seeing her flustered look. "I am Thor Odinson."

"I, um. Ororo Munroe. But please call me Ro."

"That is far too simple a name for my lady of the storm," he said with another gallant kiss to her hand.

Ororo felt herself flushing for the first time in years. "Well," she said briskly, trying to regain her lost calm. "Firstly, I believe, we need to begin with you learning to understand the effects you're having on the overall weather patterns with these lightning strikes."

"I am willing to be schooled by you, my lady of the storm," Thor murmured. He grinned when she looked at him with her eyebrows arched. "In all things."

Ororo blushed again.

**999 words.**

**Bad puppy Thor!**


	75. More Than Air (Loki & Rogue)

**More Than Air**

_Loki/Rogue_

FrostRogue? Although I think this one is actually a comic ship, does anyone know the name?

**Theme song:**

**Bon Jovi – Lay Your Hands On Me *snort***

**I struggled to come up with a premise for these two to meet – so I cheated. This one is a direct follow-on to yesterday's Thor/Storm Short **_**The Butterfly Effect**_**. Storm is spending a lot of her time on Asgard and the X-Men are invited to send up a delegation for talks regarding a formal alliance. Rogue, somewhat to her dismay, is sent along. (And no. They don't send Logan. No one in their RIGHT MIND would send Logan). Loki, obviously, has managed to redeem himself somewhere along the way as he's freely wandering around on Asgard with Thor and Odin.**

Rogue sat alone, staring into her cup of mead. It tasted good, but she could tell it had one hell of a kick. And she couldn't afford to get drunk and lose control. Not even here.

Thor had volunteered to let her touch him, to discover if her power-leaching worked on Asgardians as well as it did on humans. It did.

He'd lasted longer than any human ever could before going to his knees – the rush of power had been so intoxicating that she hadn't been able to let go of her own accord, had to be pulled off. Even more amazing than drawing in Gambit's power.

Rogue sighed, glancing across the room. The Cajun was flirting with Lady Sif, and she was smiling at him. _I miss him flirting with me like that. Even though I was the one to push him away._

A handsome blond Asgardian – Fandral, she thought she recalled Thor calling him – came to sit beside her, made a few flirtatious remarks she ignored until he sighed and left her alone.

_And he reminds me of Bobby, all blond good looks and charm_. She sighed and took another gulp of her mead.

When she lowered the cup, there was another man sitting beside her. Rogue opened her mouth to tell him she really wasn't interested – and then closed it again, because this man was one she must not insult.

Loki, prince of two worlds, sat beside her, his dark head cocked slightly as he looked at her.

"My lady Rogue," he said. "You should be careful. Stronger heads than yours have suffered from overindulgence in Asgard's mead."

"Yeah?" Deliberately she drained the cup before plonking it down on the table. "Sounds good for forgettin' mah sorrows, sugah."

Loki blinked, studying the beautiful young woman before him. She had unusual hair, long, dark and thick, but with two wide white stripes in the front he could tell were natural. And her eyes, as green as his own, were pools of sorrow.

"What troubles you, little one?" he was moved to sudden compassion. No one as young as she was should have suffered the losses, the pain, that he saw in her eyes.

"Ev'rythin' an' nuthin'," Rogue gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Yah wanna get me anutha cup of that mead, sugah?"

"I think you've had enough."

"And now yah sound like Logan."

Loki lifted a black eyebrow, reached out as she stood a little unsteadily. She wore gloves, he saw, long black silk ones to her elbow, almost but not quite meeting the forest-green silk Asgardian gown she was wearing. _His_ colours; though he knew it was a coincidence, he liked the way she looked in them. His fingers settled on her bare upper arm.

"Don't touch meh!" Rogue's first instinct was to push him away instantly. And then she let out a gasp, because it _hurt_, but there was no energy drain. The pain passed almost instantly, and there was nothing but the feeling of Loki's cool fingers on her skin.

"Odin's eye!" Loki rarely swore. But then, finding his soulmate could certainly be considered a special occasion. He pulled his hand back from Rogue's arm, inspected the runes across his fingers. "Well. I didn't expect _that_."

She was staring at him wide-eyed. "Ah can touch yah."

"You're my soulmate." He tried desperately to look unflustered. "I should hope that you'd want to."

"No, you don't understand, Ah can _touch_ yah!" She peeled off her gloves, flung them down on the table. Reached to put her fingers against his face. "It doesn't _work_. It doesn't hurt yah!" She couldn't read his memories, couldn't draw power from him even if she tried. An incredulous smile broke across her face. "Ah _can't_ hurt yah!" And she flung herself at him, straddling his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips against his.

Loki remembered, as she spoke, what power this lovely young girl had. And the fact that she had no control over it, couldn't touch any other being without draining the life out of them. Thor had warned them all about touching her. Loki had accepted the edict without really thinking about what such an awful curse must mean to the woman involved.

He thought about it now, seeing that incredulous smile light up her already beautiful face until she positively glowed. _How starved of touch she must be, of affection – even more than I_… and then she threw herself at him, clinging to him, her soft mouth meeting his.

Loki couldn't help himself. His arms closed around Rogue and he kissed her back, enjoying the way she suddenly became shy, letting him take the lead, tasting her soft lips with his tongue.

_Has she ever been kissed before? For certain there's many things she's never done, I will be the first to introduce her to the pleasures of the flesh_…

The kiss lasted until Thor grabbed Loki by the throat, even as Storm and Jean dragged Rogue out of his arms, clothes wrapped around their hands to protect them from her bared skin.

"No! No!" Rogue screamed, fighting to get back to Loki. "Ah can touch him! Ah can _touch_ him!"

"Which is no reason to be letting him shove his tongue down your throat!" Jean reproached.

"She's my soulmate, is that a good enough reason?" Loki growled, pushing Thor off.

Storm and Jean both let go, shocked, and Rogue threw herself back into Loki's arms. He gathered her to him protectively, swirling his green cloak about them both – and with a mischievous grin at Thor, the pair of them vanished.

They reappeared in Loki's chambers, a wave of his hand securing the door against intruders. And then Rogue wrapped her arms around his neck again, her slim fingers sliding into his black hair, and he forgot about everything but the woman in his arms, the woman who needed his touch more than she wanted air to breathe.

**999 words.**

**Awww… I think that's the first time I've ever wanted to call Loki cute.**


	76. Don't You Dare (Phil & Pepper)

**Don't You Dare**

_Phil Coulson/Pepper Potts_

I'm sure this is a ship – I've seen it in a lot of Stony fic – but I have no idea what it's called.

CoulSpice, maybe? Phipper? Pepson? They all sound weird. If anyone knows, please tell me!

(And incidentally, since it _does_ appear in a lot of Stony fic – what the hell, this one contains Stony as well).

**Theme song:**

**Simple Minds – (Don't You) Forget About Me**

Of all the things that surprised Phil after coming back from the dead, the fact that he now had a soulmark should not have been the most shocking.

Somehow, it was.

He'd never had a mark. Hadn't really wanted one, had always thought that a life dedicated to SHIELD would be quite satisfying enough. Even the cellist hadn't truly tempted him too much, pretty and charming as Audrey had been.

He couldn't believe that his soulmate had been born during that short period of his death. Not considering the words printed neatly around his left wrist, under the strap of his watch.

_Don't you ever dare do that to me again!_

Somehow, it felt as though she – and he was very sure it was a _she_ – was referring to his death and resurrection. Someone he knew before, he thought.

But who?

It wasn't Audrey. He had Jemma ask, subtly. And slowly, he worked his way through the list of people he thought of as possibles. May, Hill, Sharon Carter. Romanoff, too; she'd been pissed with him, but not his soulmate. And she agreed to keep his secret from the Avengers. For now.

A s for his soulmate - well, he'd just have to keep searching.

Of all the things that shocked Pepper the most, the fact that she developed a soulmark along with the Extremis powers should not have been the worst. It stayed even when the Extremis effects were reversed, two neat words on her right hip.

It was, though. Because it finally and completely destroyed her already fragile relationship with Tony. He couldn't deal. Didn't want to. Preferred to throw himself into working with the Avengers, helping a shattered Steve after SHIELD fell. Pepper wasn't really all that surprised to find the two of them entwined in the lab one day kissing. That had been brewing for a while, in her opinion. She just smiled and quietly closed the door behind her as she left.

Steve and Tony came together to tell her. She only laughed at their faces, at Steve's embarrassed, apologetic look, and Tony's half-defiant, half-sorry expression.

"About bloody time," was all she said, hugging both of them warmly. "And excellent timing too, Tony. One more day and I'd have lost the betting pool to Barton."

They both laughed sheepishly, and then Tony hugged her warmly. "I want you to be happy too, Pep."

"I will be." She tapped her hip with a meaningful smile. "He'll turn up. One of these days." _Though I could wish he'd say something a bit more helpful than 'Hello, Pepper'_.

Which seemed awfully familiar for a first meeting. Could it possibly be someone she'd met before? Someone else who'd somehow gained a new soulmark?

It wasn't Romanoff who gave Coulson away, in the end, it was Hill. She said his name in a present tense context, in the heat of the moment, and when Tony corrected her she looked confused for just a moment too long. Steve's suspicions were aroused and he and Tony started digging. After that, the secret lasted less than a day.

Pepper wasn't invited to the first meeting for the sole reason that she'd been out of the country on SI business. She cried when Tony called to tell her, but by the time she finally came face to face with Coulson, in the penthouse atop the Tower which had become the Avengers Bar, her tears had gone and were replaced by that redhead temper of hers which really did need an outlet.

_Oh _– _Pepper_. Phil stood as the stunningly beautiful woman he'd always had more than a little bit of a crush on entered the room, looking amazingly put together as always in a pale green shift dress and skyscraper Louboutin heels, which in combination made her legs look endless. Her sky-blue eyes fell on him and narrowed, and she came clipping gracefully over towards him.

"Hello, Pepper," he said, a bit stupidly, and then her hand cracked sharply across his face.

"Don't you ever _dare_ do that to me again!"

His head snapped to the side – _wow, Pepper had quite an arm on her_ – and turned slowly back. "What did you say?"

"I said don't you ever dare do that to me again!" Even as she spoke, Pepper realised that it had hardly been the personal slight she'd made it sound like. But it _felt_ personal. Phil had become a friend, more than that, even, the one person she'd been able to rely on when Tony had lost his mind and her world had crumbled around her ears. The one person she'd really wished was there when Killian had taken her for his mad Extremis scheme. _Phil_ would never have put her in danger as Tony had, would have seen through Killian much earlier…

… _oh my God, I'm in love with Phil Coulson and I had no idea._

Pepper stared at the innocuous-looking man in front of her. The man who she'd seen stand up to terrifying opponents for her sake with nothing more than a gun and raw courage, no flying armoured suit to protect him.

_Now what the hell do I do?_

Phil stared at Pepper, his blue eyes wide. _Could it be..?_

"I don't suppose you gained a new soulmark about a year ago?" he said, trying desperately to keep his voice casual.

"No, just a couple of months ago…" she trailed off, staring at him. Suddenly realising that he'd said _Hello, Pepper, _just before she slapped him. "Phil?"

His hands were shaking as he unstrapped his watch, turned his wrist to show her the neat, precise writing there. "I don't know how it's possible," he said quietly as she reached out, traced the words with her long, slender fingers. "I won't – Pepper, you know I'd never press you for anything, but…"

"One more word and I'll slap you again," she threatened, before stepping in close, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him very thoroughly indeed.

**999 words.**

**I seem to have got into slaps as a greeting method for soulmates. First Thor and now Phil both copping one…**


	77. Together We're (Fitz & Jane & Darcy)

**Together We're The Perfect Woman**

_Fitz/Jane/Darcy_

**I'm not even going to bother thinking of a ship name. Because seriously nobody else in the world is ever gonna write this ever again.**

**Totally failing to believe that this got 38 votes. You're all strange.**

**That said, a promise is a promise, so here goes… obviously in this AU, Thor is just a friend to Darcy and Jane, though a good one. Fitz has further recovered from his brain damage and no longer stammers.**

**1500 target, since it's a triad.**

Jane leaned her head wearily on Darcy's shoulder. Darcy reached up a hand and patted her absently.

"Did you eat?"

"I had breakfast."

"Ja-_ane_," Darcy sighed. "It's midnight."

Jane leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Leave that and come to bed then, Darce."

"In what way will that improve your calorie intake for the day?" Darcy sighed, though, shutting down her laptop and closing it.

"In that I made us a midnight feast?" Jane smiled, slipping her arm around Darcy's waist as she rose.

"Oh," Darcy smiled as she saw what Jane had done. Crackers and cheese, a bottle of wine, grapes, even a large block of chocolate. "Oh, Janey. I do love you."

"You too."

They sat on the bed together, eating quietly. Finally they were sitting back with a plastic cup of wine each, looking at each other.

"What now?" Jane asked.

It was a good question. They'd been on the run for months, ever since SHIELD turned out to by HYDRA – and so did Ian. Erik had fortunately been out of the country, visiting family in Sweden, and managed to go underground pretty effectively there. But Jane and Darcy were both trapped in London, easy targets for anyone looking to use them against their friend Thor. Darcy had backed up Jane's research and then they'd destroyed the lab – along with Ian's body – and made a run for it.

They'd been running ever since, trying to stay one step ahead of the HYDRA thugs hunting them. London was the worst city in the world to try and hide out in, considering the density of surveillance cameras, so they'd headed for the country immediately and gone to smaller and smaller towns, relying on Darcy's hacking abilities to get by, as she set up dummy accounts and credit cards and siphoned money into them – and demonstrated a worrying ability to pick pockets Jane hadn't known her soulmate possessed.

They'd found out they were soulmates in New Mexico.

"Is it always this fucking hot here?" Darcy had bitched, throwing her bag on the floor as Erik showed her in and going to stand in front of the fan.

"Pretty much," Jane said, before suddenly spinning around on her chair and almost falling off. "Oh. Hello!"

They'd stuck together ever since, through thick and increasingly thin. Waiting for their third to arrive. Though Darcy was becoming deeply pessimistic that they'd find him – they both liked men as well, hoped it was a _him_ – before HYDRA caught up to them both. Darcy had hacked enough of their databases to find out that there was a kill-on-sight order out for her, and that Jane was to be taken alive and put on a list for 'compliance'. Whatever that was. Neither of them wanted to find out.

And so they found themselves here, in a tiny bed-and-breakfast on the shores of Loch Ness, pretending to be tourists. Jane had cut her hair and dyed it blonde; Darcy's was now chin-length and streaked with pink. They both looked very much unlike themselves.

Which is why they both panicked when they went out for a walk the following morning, stretching their legs and looking at the sights – Darcy insisted she wanted to look for Nessie, since they were here – and a woman passing by took one look at Jane and stopped in her tracks.

"Good God, you're Dr. Jane Foster!"

"No I'm not. Who?" Jane said instinctively and belatedly.

Darcy just pulled her (smuggled in and very illegal) taser, depressed the trigger and said "Run!"

They both turned, Darcy dropping the now useless taser, and almost ran into the young man coming around the (blessedly deserted) street corner. "Jemma, we should be getting back…"

Fitz froze in his tracks at the sight of Jemma on the ground, twitching. "What did you do?" he shouted at the two women facing him, wide-eyed. He drew his ICER gun from where it had been concealed at the small of his back and pointed it, steady-handed. "Nobody move!"

"She recognised me!" Jane said.

"So you _shot_ her?"

"No, that was me." Darcy stared at the curly-haired young man. Older than her but younger than Jane, she assessed. Her blue eyes slid sideways, met Jane's dark ones. "It's only a taser, she'll be all right in a minute."

"This is only an ICER and you'll be all right in a minute if I shoot you too, so don't bloody move," Fitz stared down the two women who'd said his soulmate words. Soulmates or not, they'd attacked Jemma and he wasn't about to let that stand. Only – the one with the pixie cut and the dark roots showing through her bottle-blonde hair looked really familiar for some reason.

"We're not going anywhere," Jane said, hands spread carefully. "Are we, Darce?"

"Nope." Darcy was looking him over with interest. He had a thin, clever face, curly hair, jeans, a plaid shirt and a bulky Arran sweater. And he sounded like a local, unlike the woman they'd shot. "Tell me you're not married to her or anything, that you waited for us?"

Fitz blushed to the roots of his hair as he moved cautiously around them to check on Jemma. "She's my best friend."

"Well, that's good. Because folks are gonna think you're being greedy with us two gorgeous girls in your life, never mind adding another one. Not that Jane and I would be willing to share you with anyone but each other, I don't think…"

"Darcy shut _up_!" Jane elbowed her in the ribs.

Fitz just shook his head, going to one knee beside the still-twitching Jemma, ejecting the taser cartridge and disconnecting the taser pins from where they'd hit her in the chest. Her twitching stopped immediately, but she was struggling for breath, so he rolled her quickly into the recovery position.

"This is most surreal and unexpected," he said aloud. "When Coulson offered us the day off so I could go visit my cousin while we were in the area…"

"_Coulson_!" both Jane and Darcy exploded at once.

Fitz blinked, his head coming up. "You _know_ Coulson?"

"F-F-F," Jemma was trying to pluck at his sleeve, tell him something. "F-F-F."

"Yes, it's me, it's Fitz. You've been tasered, you'll be all right, Jemma, just lie still."

"No, F-F-Fos-Foster!"

_Jane. Darcy. Foster_. Fitz's mouth dropped open as the recognition clicked in his brain. "My God, you're Dr Jane Foster! We've been looking everywhere for you! No, no," as he saw both of them clearly start to panic and back away, "it's all right, I promise, we're with SHIELD, the _real_ SHIELD, I'm on Coulson's team." He put his ICER away, and tried to look as unthreatening as possible. _Not difficult,_ he thought wryly to himself.

"Coulson's _dead_," Jane said, "Thor told us Loki killed him."

"It – didn't stick. Look, I can call him, you can see for yourself. But right now can we get Jemma off the street?"

Fitz hauled Jemma to her feet and yanked one of her shaking arms over his shoulder, and Darcy took the other side while Jane led them back to the bed and breakfast, only a few steps away.

"This poor lady took a tumble," Jane said brightly to the manager, "may we use the lounge?"

Without waiting for an answer she led Fitz and Darcy in and closed the door firmly behind them, watching as they deposited Jemma on a couch.

"Well, do something, you're the doctor," Darcy said to Jane.

"I'm not that kind of doctor," Fitz and Jane both said in unison.

"Oh, what, you've _both_ got doctorates? Way to make a girl feel inferior!"

"I don't think you could ever be inferior to anyone," Fit mumbled before blushing and hastily turning back to Jemma.

"Did you see that, he looked at my boobs! Our soulmate likes my boobs, Jane!" Darcy smiled widely. "God, I knew this would work, you're the brain and I'm the boobs. Together we're the perfect woman!"

"Shut up, Darcy. I think he's shy. We'll have to break him in gently," Jane hissed.

Jemma, by now, was feeling mostly back to normal. She looked up at Fitz, bending over her looking concerned. "Are they really _both_ your soulmates?"

"It seems so," he cast a faintly hunted look over his shoulder, but couldn't help the pleased smile that tugged at his lips.

"You're so doomed, Fitz."

**1396 words.**

**And Fitz and Jane would spend their lives happily building weird bit of machinery while Darcy fed them and snarked… I dunno. Hope it worked for you if you were one of the 38 who wanted to see it!**


	78. We're A Team (Darcy & Deathlok)

**We're A Team**

_Darcy Lewis/Deathlok_

_Shocklok_

**Eric Clapton – Tears In Heaven**

**I am warning you now that this one has a sad ending. I always intended to write one of these where things don't end up HEA and I sort of had this one in mind from the beginning, since Deathlok's such a tragic figure. So if you don't like the idea – you might want to skip this one.**

Darcy had seen and done some strange shit since she and Jane moved into Avengers Tower. But being asked to babysit a ten-year-old while his half-cybernetic superhero father talked with the Avengers was a whole new level of weird.

She and Ace Petersen looked at each other cautiously. Darcy had zero experience with children. But then she had lots of experience with wrangling geniuses who could be very childlike, so she shrugged mentally and said; "You hungry?"

"Sure," he brightened, so she took him to the common level and they raided the fridge for snacks. Ace sneered at her offer of a Disney movie, so she suggested they play videogames instead, and they were happily playing _LEGO Batman_ when the boy's father was escorted in by Natasha.

"Hey, Ace," Mike Peterson said, taking in the pretty brunette sitting on the couch beside his son with a game controller in her hands. "Watcha doin'?"

"Havin' fun with Darcy, Dad, she's cool."

Mike smiled at Darcy, hoping it didn't make him look too freakish. "Thanks for looking after him."

She'd already decided she wasn't going to stare at Deathlok's scars. The guy was a hero from what she'd heard, had been battling HYDRA for months _alone_ and doing one hell of a job at it before Steve and Sam ran across him while hunting for Barnes. He hadn't wanted to work with SHIELD, but Avenger backup was something _no one_ would turn down.

He did have a nice smile, despite the scars, so Darcy smiled back and said, "Any time. He's a cool kid."

Mike's eyes widened. She knew one of them was cybernetic, but you really couldn't tell. "What did you say?" he said in surprise.

"I said… wait a minute." She had _thanks for looking after him_ scribbled on the back of her left knee. "Do you have _Any time, he's a cool kid_ written on you somewhere?"

Mike looked pained. "I used to. It was on my arm." He held up the metal prosthesis. "I'm sorry. When I lost the words – I thought it might mean that I wouldn't find my soulmate."

Darcy stood up, staring at him wonderingly, not even noticing when Natasha slipped the controller deftly from her hands and slid into the seat beside Ace she'd vacated, occupying the boy's attention.

"Well, you did find me."

"I'm…" he gestured at his scarred face, at the cybernetic leg, his arm implant. "I'm a wreck. Half a man. You don't want me. Look at you, you're gorgeous, you could have anyone you want."

"I want my soulmate," was her only response as she laid her hands on his chest, feeling the solid muscle there beneath. "The hero."

The smile that came to his face was so beautiful, she didn't even notice the scars.

Mike and Darcy married three months later. Ace was best man, and eight months later his little sister Marcia arrived and promptly became her father's little princess.

It was a little over a year later when Darcy, following Marcia's toddling steps, went into their bedroom and found Mike lying down, his teeth bared in a rictus of pain, gripping onto his human arm with his half-cybernetic one.

"Mike!" she dropped the load of laundry she was carrying and rushed to his side. "What is it?"

"Pain, Jesus, so bad!"

For a man who lived with pain every day, it had to be excruciating for him to complain about it. Darcy panicked and demanded JARVIS summon Bruce instantly.

Half an hour later Mike was in the Tower's magnificently equipped medical centre, Bruce running tests on his arm. Several scans later he came to Mike and Darcy, his face grave.

"It's cancer," he said gently. "In the bone. I've just found out that apparently you're not the first former Centipede soldier to be diagnosed with it. It seems the grafts were carcinogenic. I'm sorry, Mike."

Darcy let out a frightened sob. Mike put his arm around her and met Bruce's eyes squarely. "Take the arm off."

Bruce shook his head slowly. "If we'd found this six months ago, that might have worked. But – it's throughout your system, Mike. In your spine now. Spreading to your lungs. Any other man would have noticed the pain long ago, but because you live with such a high level of it…"

"_Fuck_," Mike dropped his head against Darcy's. "How long?" he wasn't a man to mince words. Didn't want the truth prettied up. He could see in Bruce's face that there was no hope, no treatment for this. Not even Stark and Banner's genius could fix _this_.

Bruce bit his lip, closed his eyes. He didn't want this man he considered a friend, and Darcy, dear sweet Darcy who mothered all of them, to suffer this. "You're strong. Four, maybe six weeks?"

Mike closed his eyes and turned his attention to Darcy, sobbing heartbroken into his shoulder. "Hush. Hush now, pet."

Bruce left them alone, tears in his own eyes, and went to tell the others. Mike and Darcy would have enough to deal with. They'd need all the support they could get.

Mike lasted almost five months, longer than any of them could have had a right to expect. Long enough for him to record dozens of video messages for his children, for Ace whose father remained his hero despite living with the Avengers, for Marcia who was too young to understand and would never remember her father.

They laid him to rest at Arlington, beside other heroes, on a dull rainy day which perfectly suited Darcy's mood. Ace leaned against her side, Marcia in her arms, the Avengers gathered close around them, mourning one of their own.

"What do we do now, Mom?" Ace's shaking voice jolted her from her own misery. She straightened her spine, swallowed her tears.

"We go on, love. Remember what your father used to say?" She looked at her friends, her _family_, standing close around them. Supporting them. "We're a team."

**998 words.**

**SO SAD. I'm sorry. But as I said, I always intended to write one of these that wasn't totally HEA – it is a self-challenge, after all! – and because of the whole soulmates thing, the one left behind needs a reason to carry on. Which would have to be children.**

**I also think I'd have been flamed to death if I'd killed off one of the major, much-loved characters, so I chose Mike Peterson, who's fairly minor but a very empathetic character due to his obvious love for his son and the suffering he's endured. And at least he would know that with Darcy, Ace would always have a home and be loved and protected.**

**Sorry for all the angst! Back to happy endings next chapter, I promise!**


	79. You Found Them (Clintasha Bobbi Hunter)

**You Found Them**

_Hunter/Bobbi/Clint/Natasha_

BlackHuntMockingHawk (LOL I feel like I'm trying too hard)

**Theme song:**

**T'Pau – Heart And Soul**

**Chapter 61 (Lance/Bobbi) can be considered canon for this story. As can some nebulous long-ago meeting, probably in Budapest, where Clint talked to Natasha instead of killing her immediately and found out she was one of his soulmates. Both pairs, though, are unstable – as we shall see.**

**(God knows how many words this will take. I'll try for 1,500…)**

**Oh – and it's kind of M rated. I'm not changing the whole fic rating, just this chapter. Only because we open on Bobbi and Hunter doin' the do…**

"This is pointless."

"Doesn't fucking feel pointless," Hunter groaned.

"Lance, we both know this isn't going to work. It never does."

He sighed, looking up at her. "Could we at least save this conversation until _after_ we've finished having sex? Because the sex part works. My sex parts would like to work very much, thank you." He shifted his hips for emphasis. "And you're killing the mood slightly."

She smiled and let out a little gasp as he hit on a sensitive spot. "All right. We'll talk – later."

Of course, what they actually did later was fight. The lovemaking was amazing, had never been anything else. It was the rest where they failed. They were both too much alike, too hot-tempered and quick to anger, too ready to think the worst of each other and then refuse to back down even if they were proved wrong.

"Maybe you're right," Hunter sighed wearily. They'd fought, had angry rage sex and now lay separated by what felt like about half a mile of bed but in reality was about six inches. "Maybe we're kidding ourselves, thinking we can make this work with just the two of us." He rolled to his side, propped his head on his hand, his eyes sad. "We need the others." His hands traced over the words on his collarbone – her words – and then dropped to the other two sets on his flat stomach.

"What if we never find them?" Bobbi said softly. "Do you know how rare completed quartets are?"

"Maybe even one would be enough." He reached out and traced the intertwined words on the inside of her left bicep. "But I think they're already together. Wherever they are."

"Do you think they're happier than us?" Bobbi swore she wouldn't cry. She _wouldn't_ cry.

But when he looked at her with those sad puppy-dog eyes and said "I really do hope so, darlin'. I wouldn't want anyone to feel as miserable as I know I make you sometimes," she gave up and started bawling. A moment later he was holding her, pressing her face into his neck, stroking her hair gently.

She'd never let anyone else see her vulnerable like this. She hated letting Lance see it. But he held a piece of her soul – and this, he'd never use against her. Because she knew he was hurting just as much as she was.

Avengers Tower was not a nice place to be when Clint and Natasha fought. And for two soulmated spy-assassins, they fought a _lot_. Not with the shouting and histrionics with which Tony and Pepper disagreed, but with cold, angry silences on Natasha's part, and Clint – well, Clint would just disappear into the air ducts and not come out for days, not unless the Assemble alarm sounded.

No one could make him come out, not even Steve's Stern Voice. And then somehow – no one was ever quite sure how, with Clint in the vents and Natasha coldly silent – they'd make up and be found – usually by Steve – defiling some public spot in the Tower.

It was Sam, who'd known them the least amount of time, who eventually asked.

"Why the hell do you two fight so much?" he demanded. For once, they weren't, were curled up together on a couch in front of the TV watching _The Big Bang Theory_, the only program they both liked. "You're soulmates, aren't you? I've never seen a soulmated pair fight like you two do."

Everyone else – they all liked _The Big Bang Theory_, even Tony – immediately lost all interest in the TV and turned to stare at Clint and Natasha. She went stiff and silent, and he sighed, running his fingers through her red curls, trying to relax her.

"We're not a pair, Sam. We're incomplete."

"Ah, a triad without your third! That's gotta be tough," Sam said, immediately sympathetic.

Clint shook his head. "Worse. We're a quartet."

"Holy crap, really?" Tony sat bolt upright. "I've never met anyone who was part of a quartet! Not a complete one, anyway."

"You still haven't," Natasha pointed out dryly.

"So what do you know about them?" Tony wouldn't leave it alone, despite Pepper repeatedly jabbing her elbow into his ribs. "Stop it, Pep, you know we're all fascinated by our spysassin's sex lives. We get to see enough of it, when they're not fighting they're fucking on any given surface in the Tower. They're both so _flexible_. Are you flexible sexual-orientation wise too? Is it two women? Because if so, Katniss, I'm going to have to kill you for being the luckiest bastard in the world."

Clint couldn't help but grin. "At least one of them's a man. His name's Bob. And yes, Tony, we're _both_ bisexual."

Tony's eyes glazed over.

"If you even think about attempting to install cameras in our apartment, I will cause your suit to suffer an extremely painful and fatal malfunction," Natasha said, without even bothering to look at him.

"Clintasha," Maria Hill popped her head around the door of the office they shared the following afternoon, checking quickly to make sure they were both dressed – which they were, Clint making some minute adjustments to his bow with a tiny screwdriver and Natasha hacking something with the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth, "I need a favour."

"If you're gonna call us Clintasha, the answer's no," Natasha replied without looking up from her laptop.

"Oh puh-leeze. Everyone does it."

"Not to our faces."

"I'm totally not scared of you."

They both looked up at her and Maria couldn't help an involuntary step backwards. "Much?" she offered. Clint grinned.

"What is it, Maria?"

"My contacts in SHIELD want to meet and deliver some information about what Coulson's up to. But I have to fly to Germany with Pepper, we're leaving in less than an hour. I said you two would go instead. You're recognisable so they'll know who you are."

"You already said we'd go?" Natasha arched a perfect red brow.

"Errr…" Maria gave up. She still sometimes forgot that she was no longer able to give these two orders. Not that they'd always obeyed them anyway… "Please?"

Clint just held out his hand for the info.

"Oh thank you. Agents Morse and Hunter." Maria handed him a sheet of paper with a photo printed on it, a tall beautiful blond woman and a dark-haired, dark-eyed man with the look of a soldier about him.

"Mm, hot couple. Are they a couple?" Clint couldn't help the aesthetic appreciation. Natasha got up and came to look over his shoulder, leaning on the back of his chair.

"They used to be. They divorced. They were soulmates, I don't know what went wrong."

"I want a pretzel," Natasha said suddenly.

"What, now?" Clint rolled his eyes at her, shrugged as she walked away towards the stand. "No thanks, I'm not hungry!" he called after her. She pretended not to hear. "Eh," he muttered under his breath, walking a little further on – this was where Hill had said they'd meet Hunter and Morse – _oh_ – wow, they were even better-looking in person than in the picture, Morse's legs endless in blue jeans, a slight smile on Hunter's chiselled face. He approached slowly, holding his hands out from his sides to show that they were empty.

"You're Hunter?" he said, a little shy of addressing Morse, who was appraising him thoughtfully.

"Yeah, and this is Bob," Hunter said cheerfully.

"Hi, nice to meet you – wait, what did you say?" Clint turned back to Hunter, eyes wide.

"He said the words!" Bobbi said to Lance, astonished. "You said the words!" she turned back to Clint.

A slow smile broke across his face. "I think you'd better meet Tasha."

"Hawkeye is one of our soulmates?" Hunter spluttered incredulously.

"And I'm assuming that the Black Widow is our fourth," Bobbi said slowly, staring into Clint's eyes. He was looking at both of them appreciatively, his grin stretching wider. "Well. This is unexpected."

"Unexpected!" Hunter just about choked. Staring at Clint. Hawkeye was a fraction taller than he was, just about Bobbi's height – or would be if she was barefoot – and seriously gorgeous. And eyeing him hotly in a way that made an anticipatory shiver run up Lance's spine.

Natasha joined them then, a pretzel wrapped in a napkin in her hand. "You found them, then," she said to Clint, nodded cordially to Bobbi and Lance.

"In more ways than one. We're your soulmates," Bobbi said.

"And damn do I feel lucky right now," Lance added, staring from Natasha to Clint incredulously.

Clint had never seen Natasha lost for words before. She just stood, blinking her green eyes, looking from him, to Lance, to Bobbi, and back to him again. And then she smiled widely and said;

"Oh, this is going to be _fun_."

They moved together a little uncertainly, to begin with. Until Natasha, probably the most confident of all of them, slid an arm around first Hunter's waist, then Bobbi's. Clint moved in on the other side, completing the circle, and all four of them leaned into each other, relaxing as their bond finally – finally! – became whole.

**1533 words.**

**Pretty close!**

**This is the only quartet I currently have planned. And it was bloody complicated, working out who said what to whom, so I don't see another one coming along any time soon – even if there have been one or two mad suggestions for possible groupings!**

**This one felt fairly natural, though, going along with my premise that incomplete triads don't manage well without their third. It makes sense that two halves of a quartet might well form couples that are unstable until they meet up with the other pair. And considering the Hawkeye/Mockingbird comic relationship, this quartet makes complete sense.**

**Plus, the four of them would be super sexy together ;)**


	80. Worth Waiting For pt 1 (Rogue & Fitz)

**Worth Waiting For - Part 1**

_Fitz/Rogue_

RogueEngineer

**Theme song:**

**Richard Marx – Right Here Waiting**

**Now, obviously, I did write Fitz/Rogue as part of The Gambler, if you read that. This, however, is a different story. The Rogue in this version is older, in her mid-twenties, and has learned a great deal about her power, although she still doesn't have control over it.**

**This story is going to be in two parts, the first part today and the second tomorrow. Because I like these two and it needs a conclusion.**

**It is set in the same AU as Skye/Iceman and Jemma/Pyro. It's the very same night that Jemma and Pyro meet, at Skye and Bobby's engagement party.**

"I'd better go look for Jemma," Fitz finally broke away from the group he was chatting to in the end. They were extremely interesting – Dr McCoy was _fascinating_ – but he hadn't seen Jemma in a while. She had a tendency to be a wallflower at parties sometimes and he hoped that wasn't happening. The X-Men were all so nice – well, apart from Logan, sometimes. The Wolverine, he thought, didn't actually mean to be scary _on purpose _though. Rather like Agent May, who, he thought, might actually have been eyeing Logan with something like interest. Fitz shuddered at the thought of those two getting together and headed down the corridor away from the ballroom.

"Ah wouldn't go in there, sugah," a soft, husky voice said as he put his hand on a door handle, intending to go in and look.

"Oh, why not?" he'd turned with a slight smile before her words registered. "Wait. What did you say?"

The very attractive woman standing there blinked. "Um. What?"

Fitz recognised her, though they hadn't been introduced. This was Rogue – who could kill with the touch of her bare skin. He looked down at her hands. She wore long green satin gloves.

"Er, hi. I'm Fitz. You, uh – you said my soulmark words."

"An' yah said mahn, sugah." She smiled, but her green eyes were sad. "Yah know who Ah am?"

"I know."

"Then yah know Ah can't be like a normal girlfriend to yah? Not yet, anyway. The Professor believes one day Ah might get ahold of mah power…"

Fitz smiled, accepted the gloved hand she offered to shake. "Then I'll wait. As long as need be. Because I think you're very much worth waiting for."

The smile that lit up her face made him feel warm through.

"And in the meantime, well. There's more to a good relationship than sex." He blushed slightly, saying it. "I'd like to get to know you. Properly."

"Ah'd lahk that too, Fitz."

_Six months later_

"Will you please just accept the job, Rogue? Half the X-Men are working for SHIELD now we're legitimate again anyway. I'm so tired of only getting to see you in passing, every now and again."

"But where would Ah live, Fitz?"

"With me!"

She stilled, staring at him. "But – but Ah can't…"

"I don't care. There's a spare room in my apartment, we can make that into another bedroom. Or put twin beds in my room, I know you don't want to risk hurting me in your sleep. I just," he looked sheepishly down at his hands, twisting them together. "I want to be with you. All the time."

A slim hand sheathed in green silk came up and settled delicately on both of his. "How could Ah refuse, when yah put it like that?"

They both smiled.

_Two years later_

"Marry me."

"What?" she turned her head to gape at him. They were settled together on the couch, watching a documentary on TV, Fitz rubbing her feet through her socks.

"Marry me." His blue eyes were utterly serious. "I love you. I don't want to be without you, not ever. Please will you marry me?"

She gazed at him, at his dear, beloved face, this brilliant, gentle man who risked his life daily in her presence. They'd accidentally touched twice – and he'd very daringly snatched a kiss once – and each time his face had paled, and he'd staggered and almost fallen. How much of his life had she already stolen, Rogue wondered? Would he be happier without her, free to fall in love with someone else, maybe have the family she could never give him?

Even though Jemma had pointed out that she _could_ actually have Fitz's children, if she wanted, though medical intervention, Rogue was too afraid – what if the children were like her? Or worse, what if they _weren't_ like her, what if they were normal, and she could never even touch her own child?

"Fitz, Ah don't think…" she said at last, but he cut her off before she could finish the sentence.

"If you start again about how I'd be better off without you, I'm going to be very annoyed."

She had to smile. His fingers were stroking lightly up her leg, caressing over her leggings. They'd found ways to touch, to pleasure each other, through thin layers of clothing. Clever, creative Fitz had even come up with a way for them to actually have sex, using a condom and strategically arranged clothes, and he made sure it was as good for Rogue as it was for him.

Impulsively, she turned and laid her cheek on his chest, nestling against him. Letting him pet her hair with his bare hand, the one part of her he could safely touch. "Ah love you," she said softly.

"I love you too, you know that."

"Let me think about it?" she requested after a few moments of quiet snuggling.

"As long as you need, my love. I'll be right here waiting for you."

**Second part tomorrow…**


	81. Worth Waiting For pt 2 (Rogue & Fitz)

**Worth Waiting For Part 2**

_Fitz/Rogue continued_

**Sixpence None The Richer – Kiss Me**

"It's the most complicated fucking bomb I've ever seen," Mack said, his dark face panicked as he looked through Hunter's com pickup. "There's no way I can defuse it, Turbo."

Fit groaned in agony. Stupid, stupid idiot, he'd taken a fall trying to be a hero as they ran into the HYDRA base, and broken his right wrist in two places. Even if they could get him down to the bomb – which was on a fifteen-minute timer – in time, he couldn't do the job.

"Rogue could do it," Jemma said suddenly. She was carefully splinting Fitz's wrist. "She could take the knowledge of how from your mind, and Nightcrawler could teleport her there."

"Jemma, yah don't know what yah're asking!" Rogue was hovering anxiously over Fitz, her pretty face drawn with worry.

"I know exactly what I'm asking, Rogue." Jemma turned to face her, her eyes terrified. "That's a bio bomb and if it isn't defused, everyone in that base is going to die in one of the most horrible ways imaginable. Even Kurt can't teleport them all out in time. And you know as well as I that John will insist on being last out."

Rogue looked away from the fear in her friend's face. Because it was true. Pyro would never leave while there were still people down there.

"Rogue," Fitz fumbled for her hand, trying to pull her glove off with his one working hand. "Do it. Please. For me."

She looked at him, into his beloved face, calm and unafraid. He was already weakened. How much of his life would she steal; enough to put him into a coma? "Fitz," she began, and he sighed and abandoned his attempt to get her glove off her clenched fist. Reaching up instead, he put his hand to the back of her neck.

"Kiss me," he commanded softly, "and go save them."

"Ah love yah," she sobbed as he drew her closer.

"I love you too," he whispered as their lips met.

It was like being struck by slow lightning, Rogue had always thought; drawing from someone's mind as well as their life force, being filled with their knowledge, their thoughts and memories. But this was entirely different, because the very first thing that hit her was the total, shining love for her in Fitz's mind. There was no fear of her there – fear _for_ her, yes, fear that even his knowledge might not be enough for her to defuse the bomb and she might not get out – but no fear _of_ her.

And as she kissed him, Rogue forgot to be afraid. Fitz's mind was vast, brilliant, his thoughts ordered and structured, neat and precise. He was thinking of the skills and knowledge she needed; she found them easily, absorbed them – and opened her eyes to see him smiling at her.

"How?" she whispered, awed. She'd taken none of his life. Only that little piece of his memories and knowledge, borrowed for now.

"I don't know, but we can talk about it later. Go!"

Nightcrawler was waiting: he grabbed her around the waist and they vanished with a _bamf_ of displaced air.

With Fitz's knowledge guiding her, she performed the delicate, multiple operations to defuse the bomb with more than a minute to spare, and sagged back on the floor as Mack and Hunter carefully secured the vial of lethal bio-toxin that would have been released into the base's atmosphere.

"Well done," Bobby patted her shoulder as they headed out of the base, the whole place finally secured, and she turned to him.

"Would yah mind if Ah touched yah?" she'd absorbed Bobby long ago. "Ah need to test something out."

He hesitated, but nodded finally. "Of course."

The instant she pressed a finger to his wrist, though, the drain began. She snatched it back, frowning. "Ah don't understand."

A little pale, Bobby swallowed convulsively a couple of times before they started walking again. "Don't understand what?"

"Ah touched Fitz, to get his knowledge of how to defuse the bomb, and Ah didn't drain him."

Bobby gave her a startled look. "You're sure?"

"Yah, Ah had to make a conscious effort to take his memories."

"Maybe it's the love thing," Bobby said a bit facetiously. "Twoo wuv conquers all, and all that."

She whacked his arm with a laugh – and then couldn't stop thinking about it. She was almost shy when she got back to Fitz, sitting in the med bay on the Bus with his arm in a cast, but he held his good arm out with a relieved smile and she went to him at once.

"So, that happened," Fitz said, after cuddling her for a few minutes. "Want to talk about it? Better yet, try it again?"

"Bobby thinks it's about love."

"If it was, then you should have been able to touch me long ago," Fitz disagreed immediately, so quickly she knew he'd been thinking about it too. "Right away, really."

That made her smile. "Ah think it's about fear. _Mah_ fear. The Professor always said it was a mental block, that Ah hurt people because Ah was afraid of them hurting me. But yah – when Ah touched yahr mind, there was so much love there – and yah weren't afraid of me, either. Ah _know_ yah'd never hurt me."

"Never," Fitz promised softly, pulling her closer still, bringing his hand up to run into her hair. "Kiss me again, love. I want to make sure it's real, that it wasn't just a fluke."

She smiled, leaned in and brushed his lips lightly with hers. Nothing happened – nothing but a pleasant tingling, so she deepened the kiss, parted her lips when he swept his tongue lightly across them. For long minutes they kissed, that first, perfect kiss which had been denied them for so long, all the better because of the deep, abiding love that had built up between them. And then Rogue pulled back, smiling joyously.

"Yah know what this means?"

"I'm hoping it'll mean you'll say yes."

"Oh," her lips parted in a perfect O, and he couldn't help leaning in to kiss her again. When he moved back, her eyes were shining like stars.

"Yes."

**Word count (both parts) 1870 words.**

**Hope you enjoyed, I really do think these two would make an adorable couple!**

**And yes, this does mean that Rogue can only touch Fitz – but that's all she needs, right?**


	82. A Wrench In The Gears (May & Rhodey)

**A Wrench In The Gears**

_May/Rhodey_

WarCavalry

**Theme Song:**

**Pat Benatar – Love Is A Battlefield**

"Coulson," May said quietly, "I'm about to be arrested." And then she swiftly took her com out, dropped it and crushed it under her boot heel even as she raised her hands above her head.

_I'm badass, but eight heavily armed military police is a bit much even for me._

They searched her efficiently, taking the ICER gun at the small of her back and even finding the three small knives she carried about her person. Yes, she preferred her fists and feet, but being _completely_ unarmed was unwise to say the least. Hands cuffed behind her back – tightly, she approved, even dislocating her thumb might not get her out – she was shoved into a vehicle and driven to a low administrative building.

"Take her to the Colonel," the squad leader ordered two of his men. He gave May a serious look. "You can explain to _him_ just why you were inside the perimeter fence. And how you _got_ in."

_Or not_, May thought. She kept her expression smooth and blank.

She was shown into a small interrogation room. Pressed to sit down on a plain chair – bolted to the floor, again she approved, but they didn't cuff her to it. And then they left.

She looked around the room. One table, two chairs – a one-way mirror facing her. She looked into it, sighed theatrically and rolled her eyes. _Bored now_.

The door opened less than a minute later to admit a tall, solidly built black man in the uniform of an Air Force Colonel. May couldn't quite stop her eyes widening slightly as she recognised him.

_Oh shit, it's War Machine. That throws a wrench in the gears._

"And just who might you be, ma'am?" he rumbled, sitting down opposite her and looking her calmly in the eye.

_That – might be an even bigger wrench._

James Rhodes eyed the small, slender Asian woman sitting opposite him with curiosity. The woman was an enigma in more ways than just her expression, he thought. His men couldn't fathom how the hell she got three miles inside the perimeter fence of Area 51 without being picked up. She'd been less than a mile from the building that he suspected had been her target – a building where some _very_ restricted technologies were kept.

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me," he said, not unkindly. "But if you don't say anything, you have to understand you're in a very awkward position. We ran you through facial recognition and nothing came up. Because of your racial appearance and the fact that you're carrying no ID, you'll be assumed to be a foreign spy."

May's mouth twisted, because he was right. She took a deep breath. _Well. Time to find out the true situation._ "That could be very awkward for quite a lot of people." She looked at him expectantly.

Rhodey had thought he was unshockable. Long-term exposure to Tony Stark tended to reduce one's shockability, he'd found. But his eyes flew wide as she spoke. His words weren't on file, and they certainly weren't visible. _How could she possibly_ – well, there was only one way to be sure.

He got up and walked out of the room. Went into the observation room next door and ordered everyone out. Switched off the cameras and microphones and locked the room before returning to the interrogation cell.

"You're going to have to show me."

"I thought you might say that. Since I'm guessing you don't want to take the cuffs off, you can look for yourself. They're on my stomach." She shoved to her feet and stood still.

He looked at her for a moment before going to one knee, figuring it was a less vulnerable position than bending down. She could knee him in the face if he did that. Slowly, he took the hem of her stretchy black shirt and raised it.

And there, written across her flat stomach in his neat script were the words _And just who might you be, ma'am?_

He lowered the shirt. Looked up into her dark eyes.

"Well, isn't this a problem."

She smiled, unexpectedly, her eyes dancing. "Depends how you look at it."

He sighed, gesturing her to sit down, returning to his own seat. "All recording is off, there's no one watching us. Tell me the truth."

May watched him for a moment, decided to trust his word. "My name is Melinda May. I'm SHIELD. One of Coulson's people."

Rhodey rocked back on his chair, surprised. "I've heard of you – you're not just _one of his people_, you're the deputy director!"

"Eh," she shrugged. "I was also the best person for this job."

"And the job was?"

She smiled. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to reveal that. You know how it works."

He smiled, unwillingly. She'd tell him personal details but the mission was classified. _Of course_. He'd do the same thing in her position. "What am I going to do with you?"

May couldn't help but grin, casting an insolent look up and down his strong body. "I can think of a few things."

"Oh, I can think of a few things too, sweetheart, all of them very bad ideas right now," Rhodey couldn't help but respond to that look, his body most definitely reacting to his soulmate's interest.

"Why don't you call Coulson? If he'd known you were here, I wouldn't have had to sneak in. We'd just have asked you to steal it for us."

"_You_ are gonna be trouble."

She raised a dark eyebrow challengingly, and he couldn't help but lean in to snatch a kiss on his way out. Her lips were soft and warm, her long eyelashes fluttering against his cheek as she kissed him back. Rhodey straightened and took a deep breath.

"How is it that you're handcuffed in a cell and I still feel like you're the one in charge?"

Melinda May smiled as he walked out, the door swinging closed behind him.

**997 words.**

**Oh, she'd lead him a merry dance all right, wouldn't she? But then I think May would probably enjoy being caught, too…**


	83. Not What I Expected (Coulson &Wolverine)

**Not What I Expected**

_Coulson/Wolverine_

AgentWolverine

**Theme song: **

**Goo Goo Dolls - Iris**

"This is not your fight," Storm told the SHIELD agent who stood, calm in the middle of the chaos.

"They are HYDRA. I am SHIELD. Therefore, this is my fight." Phil knew who she was. She was on the Asset Index, of course, with many of her allies, though SHIELD had always steered well clear of the X-Men. They were too dangerous to piss off.

"They were experimenting on our people."

He only stood and looked at her, and at last she sighed. "Just don't get in the way."

"We're only here for information, we're happy to leave the wrecking of the place to your people. They seem to be doing an excellent job of it. Just let my hacker at the computers when you're done."

Storm nodded finally. "Shadowcat's our own hacker. They can work together, clean the systems out."

Phil nodded in acceptance of her terms.

Twenty minutes later he was standing patiently behind Skye and the young girl who'd walked through a wall, nearly giving him a heart attack, before introducing herself as Kitty Pryde, watching in bemusement as they performed arcane surgery on HYDRA's computers. Gun in hand, he was there to watch their backs just in case any threats popped up. Not that that seemed very likely. When the X-Men cleaned out a facility, they _really_ cleaned it out. And Skye planned to bring the whole place down on itself once they left anyway.

Phil startled as a stocky, dark-haired man wearing a bloodstained white wife-beater and cargo pants came striding in. His gun came up automatically even as his brain recognised the man from file pictures.

"None of that, buddy," Logan knew who he was, Storm had warned him that the SHIELD director was here, and he half-expected Coulson to be a bit jumpy. For a suit he moved damn quick, though not as quickly as Logan. He didn't bother extending his claws, just moved lightning-fast to grip Coulson's gun hand and press down on it. "I'm on your side," he said calmingly, forcing Phil's hand down to his side as gently as he could.

Phil's mouth dropped open. "Well – that's really good to know," he said after a minute of silence, in which Logan's expression had turned quizzical, waiting for him to respond.

Logan's grip tightened until Coulson winced, and then he let go slowly, still staring into those blue eyes. "That's not what I expected. _You're_ not what I expected," he said, as the tension began to ratchet higher between them. Not that he didn't like men, he did very much, but a _suit_? _Really?_

"Nor are you." Phil cast him a comprehensive look, from scuffed boots to bloodstained shirt to wild hair, and a smile quirked one corner of his mouth. "I'm not complaining, though." He sheathed his gun, reached out to touch Logan's hand, uncaring of the bloodstains on it.

"Me neither." _A complicated man_, Logan thought. And an attractive one. Those were broad shoulders beneath the immaculate suit, and his stomach was flat. Coulson looked fit and hard, and he obviously wasn't averse to going into the field himself despite his rank. Blue eyes twinkled at him.

"This probably isn't the best time or place, but would you like to come by for a drink later?"

"_Now_ you're talkin' my language. Bourbon?"

"Only the finest."

"You look like you'd appreciate the finer things in life."

"Oh," Phil took a step closer to Logan. They were almost equal in height, Logan just a fraction taller. Phil breathed in the animal, musky scent of him, his pupils flaring. "I certainly do."

Logan found he suddenly didn't give a shit about the two young women staring, wide-eyed, at the two of them. Stepping in closer to Phil, he curled a strong hand around the back of the other man's neck. "I know I'm gonna appreciate the hell outta you," he muttered, just before their lips met in a hungry, needy kiss.

**670 words.**

**A short one, but it really doesn't need any more, IMHO.**


	84. My Mission (Bucky & Wanda)

**My Mission**

_Bucky/Wanda_

WinterWitch

**Theme song:**

**Kongos – Come With Me Now**

He woke with a gasp, shuddering, sobbing with agony as the cold burned him from the inside out. _Just like every other time_, a tiny voice seemed to whisper deep inside him, but was gone as soon as he tried to reach for it. There was nothing there. Nothing but blankness.

And then, white-clad technicians, shining lights into his eyes, poking and prodding at him. He looked in their faces, searching for something familiar, but there was nothing. Until the Master came in.

"You are awake, Soldier," the Master said. He spoke in German. It took the Soldier a few moments to process his memory of the language.

"_Jawohl, mein Herr_."

"Good. Come with me."

He followed. The technicians had given him pants but no boots; he was sure-footed, though, did not slip on the tiled floor.

"We have a new asset," the Master told him as he dressed in the plain clothes laid out for him in a briefing room, armed himself with the weapons provided to conceal beneath them. "Your mission is to protect her."

The Soldier acknowledged the order quietly. He followed the Master to another chamber, one which contained two glass-walled cells. One of the cells contained a man; white-haired but youthful, he had his fists pressed against the glass and was shouting something inaudible. The other was empty, but before it stood a young woman. Dark of hair and eye, she was small and pale, wearing a red jacket and black dress. She was staring at the white-haired man.

"Now remember, Wanda," the Master said in a paternal tone, "all you have to do is carry out your mission and everything will be just fine. This is Soldier; he will be your bodyguard."

Her dark eyes passed over him, but she said nothing; and neither did he. He had not been ordered to speak.

"Be off with you, then," the Master waved a negligent hand.

Wanda turned to look once at her brother. He stared at her with agonised eyes, shaking his head. But what could she do? Refuse the order and he would suffer far worse than mere death. "I love you," she mouthed at him, and turned away.

A car and driver took them out of the facility. The Soldier looked around curiously, realising this was not the city he had last gone to sleep in (_where was that, again?_) but it was vaguely familiar. "Where is this place?" he asked the driver, the first words he had spoken save for acknowledging the Master.

"Rome," came the clipped response.

He did not ask what they were doing there. Likely he would not be told. His mission was to guard the girl, that was all.

They were dropped off and the girl looked up at him, a little doubtfully. "Is Soldier the only name you have?" she asked.

"It is the only name I remember," he answered quietly, and wondered why her eyes went so very wide.

"_You_!" she stared into his eyes, reached up a delicate hand to touch his cheek, her eyes drifting closed as she did. "Oh – but what have they _done_ to you!"

He did not understand, only stared at her blankly.

Wanda wanted to weep. She had seen her soulmate in her visions, only vaguely, but in her visions he was strong and confident, a warrior who would protect her, would help Pietro. Not this empty-eyed shell of a man who didn't even remember that he _had_ a soulmark. She glanced quickly about, drew him into a dark alleyway, away from the bustling crowds.

"Is this where we must go for the mission?" he looked about blankly.

"This is my mission," she agreed quietly. Hoping, praying that she could get this right. Closing her eyes, she drew on every thread of probability she could find. Wove them together in her mind, added a chunk of fairytale and a good dollop of hope – and reached up and kissed him, passing the hex to him through her lips.

"What the…" Bucky's eyes flew suddenly wide.

He remembered _everything_. It was all _there_, suddenly, everything that had been wiped from him through the long, bitter years. Gifted back – or was it cursed? – by the kiss of the girl standing before him, watching him with ancient knowledge in her dark eyes. He staggered back, hit the wall, stood there processing for several minutes.

"We have to move," Wanda said at last. "If they don't get word that I've carried out the mission, they'll start torturing Pietro."

"The – guy with the white hair?"

"My brother. He's already suffered too much for me."

"You're my soulmate, aren't you?"

She nodded, an agonised look on her face. "I'm sorry I had to do that to you. I – saw a little bit of it. What you suffered."

He shook his head, trying to clear it. "That doesn't matter now. What matters is gettin' you and your brother away from those bastards."

Her smile was like the sun coming up. "You'll help us?"

"I'll help you," he confirmed gruffly. "It's Wanda, isn't it? I'm Bucky." he reached for her hand and she let him take it with a shy glance up at him. "So, what's this mission we have to complete, doll? 'Cause I'm not in the mood to kill anyone but HYDRA scum."

"Nothing like that. I have to steal a religious relic. We can return it later."

By _steal_ she meant _telekinetically float it out of a church window_, Bucky discovered, shaking his head incredulously. He took the heavy book from her, wrapped it in a silk bag she pulled from her pocket. "Let's go get your brother, doll."

It was the middle of the night when JARVIS woke Steve from a rare deep sleep with the information that there was an important call he should take.

"Rogers," he said into the phone, wondering who on earth it could be.

"Hey, punk. Couple of friends and I could use a ride."

**996 words.**

**Bucky's gone SMASH for his Witch, methinks...**


	85. Sorry, Sir (Phil & May)

**Sorry, Sir**

Phil/May

Philinda of course!

**Theme song:**

**The Bangles – Eternal Flame**

**Surprise, surprise!**

**I can hear you all going WTF?!**

**Well, I figured out a way to have Phil and May be soulmates without contradicting canon. BECAUSE THEY DON'T KNOW IT HAPPENED.**

**AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA. HAHAHHAHHHAAAHAAHAAA. *continues mad cackling off into the distance***

They first came face to face when she was at SHIELD Academy. He was a few years older, a Specialist with a reputation for getting the tricky jobs done. He'd come in to lecture the class on disappearing in a crowd, a skill for which he was renowned.

Melinda had listened intently. Phil Coulson was interesting, an articulate speaker. She thought of a question she wanted to ask him and waited behind after the lecture was over, but he got a call on his mobile phone and was suddenly hurrying out with an intent look on his face, saying "Yes, Director, I'll be right up, ma'am."

Nobody kept Director Carter waiting, so Melinda got out of the way with a quick smile when he gave her an apologetic nod. He tripped over her book bag, though, caught himself gracefully and carried on walking, talking on the phone, not even hearing her "Sorry, sir!"

She herself forgot she'd ever spoken a word to him. They met again a year later, after she graduated the Academy and she was assigned to a group of recent graduates he'd been asked to mentor. She didn't like the other three – brash, pushy guys who were stupid enough to dismiss her as unimportant because she was female, how they expected to get anywhere in Peggy Carter's SHIELD May couldn't imagine – so she didn't push herself forward to be introduced.

"And this is Agent Melinda May," her training instructor, Felix Blake, said cheerfully.

"Hello," Phil stuck out his hand, feeling a bit gauche as the beautiful young Asian woman smiled brightly at him.

So many people had said that to her in her life already that May didn't bother getting excited. She'd wait for him to react to her words. "It's an honour to be working with you, sir."

He only smiled and shook her hand. "We'll see how you feel about that in six months."

She allowed herself a moment of disappointment. Because he was just her type, clever and attractive, a man who could take care of business. _Well. My soulmate will turn up one of these days_.

Except – he never did.

She married. Divorced. Suffered. Survived Bahrain, somehow, left the field broken. Saw Coulson often over the years; he seemed regularly to pop up where least expected. Somehow she'd known he'd come for her once he was brought back from the dead. When he popped up at her desk in Admin she tried to refuse, but in the end couldn't say no.

She'd never noticed that the single word under her left ass cheek, in a spot impossible to see for herself without a mirror and a fair bit of contortionism, had faded to grey for six days before coming back as black as ever.

_It was never going to be the right time to tell Melinda May he was in love with her_, Phil Coulson realised grimly. Not now she was his deputy director. It would create too much friction between them, make running SHIELD impossible. He had to set it aside, set aside his own wants as he'd done so often over the years. He punched the button to end the treadmill program, stepped off as it slowed to a stop, pulled off his T-shirt and wiped his sweaty face with it.

The gym door thudded and he turned, startled, to see the very object of his desires step in, dressed in those black skin-tight leggings and strappy sports top that fed so many of his night-time fantasies.

"Good morning, May," he said through a lump in his throat.

"Morning Phil," she responded with a calm dip of her sleek dark head, moving to the mats. "Been running?"

"Gotta keep in shape to keep up with the kids."

May smiled. She thought of the team as her kids too, he knew. Especially Skye. Sweet Skye, the daughter of his heart, the girl who looked as though she could have come from a mix of his and May's genes. Phil sighed as he thought of his troubled girl and headed to the water cooler to grab a glass, slinging his sweat-soaked T-shirt over his shoulder.

May's eyes roamed appreciatively over Phil's torso even as she began her T'ai Ch'i. He certainly did keep in shape, his stomach flat and his shoulders broad and well-muscled. It was rare to see him without a shirt, he was body-modest, always had been even before the awful scars Loki's spear had left on him. She'd appreciate the view while she had it.

Her gaze snagged on something just above the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Huh, I never knew you had a soulmark," she found herself blurting in surprise.

"Oh," he turned with a wry smile. "Yeah. Doubt I'll find them now."

"I've got one too. It says _Hello_," she sympathised. She could see that his was only a couple of words, so maybe it was something just as stupidly generic like _Hi there_.

"Hah, oh that's an awkward one. Mine says _Sorry, sir_." A little to her surprise, he walked closer to her mat and turned to show her.

Long ago, as a teenager, May had developed a habit of forming the letter _y_ with a little swirl in the tail. She'd eventually trained herself out of the habit – but it was distinctively her writing, or her writing as it would have been about twenty years ago. She stared now at the mark on Phil Coulson's hip with her mouth dropping open in an extremely uncharacteristic display of shock.

"What?" Phil said, bemused.

"That's my writing." She remembered, then, the long ago lecture, the phone call and the way he'd tripped over her bag. "I said that to you. You were on the phone. I don't think you heard me."

He stared at her for a long moment, his blue eyes widening. "Did I say _hello_ to you when we were first properly introduced?"

She nodded, numbly. Then tugged down her leggings and turned around, bending over. "Look. Here."

_Oh my God, I'm getting to look at May's ass. And what an ass…_ she had the body of a woman half her age, tight and pert.

It was his neat scribble, all right, there under the curve of her butt cheek, right on her panty line. Face red, Phil looked away. "That's my writing."

"My God, Phil!" she yanked her leggings back up, turned to face him. "You know what this means?"

"I means," he said a bit thickly, "that I've wasted more than twenty years not bloody doing this."

And Phil Coulson reached out, took Melinda May in his arms, dragged her against his sweaty chest and kissed her as though the world was about to end.

**1,122.**

**And obviously, another case of Fuck The Word Limit.**

**I'm a bit astonished by the OH MY GOD MOAR reactions to the Bucky/Wanda chapter earlier. And also surprised that there's pretty much no Bucky/Wanda fic out there yet. So yes, I will write a sequel. I've sort of planned it out. It's not going to be a major AU, maybe 5-10 chapters max and in fact the way I see it at the moment it's sliding more into the romantic comedy mode rather than my usual adventure/romance despite the angsty start. And it will be T-rated, absent my usual smut ;) Hopefully I'll get the first part up in a week or so!**


	86. The Choices We Make (WardRogue)

**The Choices We Make**

_Ward/Rogue_

RogueSpecialist

**Theme song:**

**3 Doors Down – Kryptonite**

**WARNING: This one also does not have an HEA, even though nobody dies. Ward is an asshole. Just sayin'.**

They met completely by chance. Considering their line of work, they could have met in any number of situations, but as it turned out, they both walked into the same seedy bar at the same time looking for oblivion. She'd been there before and walked straight to the bar to place her order; he hadn't, paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. The place was damn near empty.

His eyes were inevitably drawn to the woman who'd come in a half-step ahead of him; she was beautiful enough to make any man look twice, and she hadn't given _him_ a second look, which always piqued him a little. He was, after all, everybody's type, and he'd just had a clean shave that morning.

She'd already slammed back her first shot of bourbon by the time he sat down beside her at the bar. He glanced at it, at her, lifted a finger to the bartender. "Vodka for me, and another one of those for the lady."

"Ah don't want anything from yah," she said dismissively, in a strong Southern accent. Looked at the bartender. "Ah'll take another, but ah pay for mah own drinks."

The barman shrugged, poured both shots. As long as he got paid.

Ward stared at the woman, taking a much longer look. _She said my soulwords. All my life I've known that even my soulmate doesn't want me – but perhaps she just doesn't like being hit on in bars?_

It took him a long moment to compose what to say.

"I'm sorry to hear that you're not interested," he chose finally.

Rogue started. Looked back at the man sitting beside her. She'd dismissed him at first glance as just another pretty face, too pretty for his own good, really. Cocky, trying to buy her a drink. But – her _soulmate_?

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Ward smiled. "My name's Grant Ward."

"This is a bad idea," was all she said. And then she tossed a few bills on the bar, got up and walked out.

"What the…" he shoved a twenty at the bartender and bolted after her. "Wait!" he grabbed at her arm.

"Don't touch meh!" she was wearing a coat, of course, and gloves; she never exposed skin unless she could help it and it was midwinter in upstate New York, perfectly reasonable weather for multiple layers. "Don't _ever_ touch meh."

"Sweetheart, you're my _soulmate_," his voice dropped, softly cajoling, and he didn't let go of her arm, backing her up gently against the wall outside the bar. It was nice and dim out here. "I can't just let you walk away like this. Not without knowing how to find you again."

Rogue gulped. He _was_ handsome. _Very_ handsome, even better-looking than Gambit in some ways… she suddenly realised he was leaning in to kiss her and that _could not_ happen.

"No!" she said sharply, trying to wrench her arm away – but he was too strong, pushing her back against the wall, grabbing her other hand as she tried to bring it up to push him off and bringing his mouth down on hers in a hungry, seeking kiss.

There was a ringing in his ears, a weakness in his limbs. He staggered back, fell to his knees. "What did you do to me?" he rasped out, pain wracking his whole body.

She just stood for a moment, staring down at him. "Ah know what yah are, Grant Ward," she said finally, and in her tone was utter rejection. "Ah know what yah've done, the choices yah've made. What yah did to _Skye_."

He flinched at _her_ name. Opened his mouth to try and defend himself, but Rogue carried on pitilessly.

"We both hurt the ones we love, yah and Ah. The difference is that yah _choose_ to hurt and Ah try not to. Yah lie and make excuses, but the truth is that yah always had a _choice_, to do the right thing or the wrong thing, and too many times yah've followed the wrong path, even when yah _knew_ yah should turn away."

He couldn't make so much as a sound come from his throat, as she carried on flaying him to the bone in that honey-smooth Southern drawl.

"Ah want no part of yah, with yahr mixed-up morals and yahr excuses. Yah'll not use _me_ like yah used so many others. Ah've a decent enough life without yah and Ah'll live it unburdened by yahr troubles." She cast one last glance at him, her head held high. "Don't try to find me, Grant Ward. If Ah ever see yah again, Ah'll do the world a favour and put yah out of yahr misery."

He stayed on his knees as she walked away. Didn't have the strength to rise. He had no idea what she'd done to him until he managed to stagger upright and went back into the bar. The barman looked at him as though he'd never seen him before.

In the cracked mirror in the men's urinal, Grant Ward peered at a stranger's face. Lined and wrinkled, his hair grey, he looked every bit of seventy years old. His cry of anguish shook the mirror in its frame.

**880 words.**

**Just desserts, IMO. Just sayin'.**

**And yes, Rogue ends up without her soulmate – but she didn't want him anyway. Does not preclude the possibility of love for her, once she gains control of her power. Maybe with Gambit, who knows ;-)**

**It's Valentine's Day already here Down Under and my husband has pissed off to Melbourne to watch the cricket and won't be back until tomorrow. I'm not in the mood for fluffy romance. So you get this rather dark little Short instead. **

**I'll do better tomorrow, promise…**


	87. I Am Not Worthy (Fitz & Sif)

**I Am Not Worthy**

_Fitz/Sif_

Siftz? Sounds like a kitchen implement…

**Theme Song:**

**Robbie Williams – Angels **

**Happy Valentine's Day to those of you in the States – hope this somewhat cracky pairing hits the spot for you if yesterday's dark little offering felt rather unromantic…**

**From here Down Under, Happy International Fanworks Day. To celebrate, I'll be posting a couple of other things you might not be expecting today, so keep your eyes open…**

"And this," Sif said proudly, "is my friend Sir Leo Fitz, the Master Maker who repaired Lorelei's collar and enabled me to capture her."

The Warriors Three all looked suitably impressed and bowed their heads to Fitz, who blushed as red as a tomato.

"You do me too much honour, my lady," he mumbled.

Sif looked at him oddly, but had to move on to introduce her friends to the rest of the team. When she had finished, though, she returned to where Fitz was standing by himself and spoke to him directly.

"You do not place a high enough value on your skills, Leo Fitz," she told him firmly.

He flushed red again, unable to look her in the eye. Only looking down caused his eyes to light on her figure, outlined so spectacularly in her armour, and he jerked his chin up hastily. _Shit, she'll probably chop my head off for staring at her boobs._

"I'm just an engineer," he said, aware that he probably was being a _bit_ modest. Fixing Lorelei's collar had been an incredibly complex job.

"Never!" to his astonishment, Sif reached out and put her hands on his shoulders, bracing him. "It is a truly honourable profession, to be a maker of technology," she told him earnestly. "I could only wish for such skills myself, but alas, I am skilled in nothing more than destruction."

"Oh, but you're _very_ good at that," Fitz said, which made her smile. "We all have to stick at what we're good at, don't we?"

Her smile widened. "Do not ever change, Leo Fitz," she said softly. "The Realms need good, honourable men such as yourself, now more than ever." And to his utmost astonishment, she leaned forward – they were exactly the same height – and kissed his cheek.

He'd have blushed even redder, if that were possible, except the sudden stinging sensation on his cheek was reminiscent of being stung by half a dozen bees. He hissed with pain, clapping a hand to his face, barely aware of Sif letting out a gasp of shock and pressing her fingers to her lips.

"What the hell, _ouch_!" Fitz said in astonishment, but the stinging sensation was fading quickly. He touched his cheek and looked at his fingers, half-expecting to see blood. Sif was gazing at him, her grey eyes wide with shock, and then she lowered her fingers and reached out to touch his cheek.

Fitz flinched back instinctively, but Sif shook her head, reaching to touch him, her cool fingers brushing his face lightly. "_You_," she whispered softly. "A Maker. The Fates have honoured me, in truth."

He blinked in confusion, just then noticing an odd mark on her full upper lip. "What – what was that? What happened? What's that on your lip?"

"It will be your sigil, Leo Fitz, even as mine is now upon your cheek." She touched him again, smiling radiantly. "You are my soulmate."

_Okay, this is obviously some kind of really insane practical joke._

"That's not possible."

Sif's brow creased in a frown. "You do not – you not find me of interest? I – know of your affection for your fellow Maker Lady Jemma," she cast a jealous look across the room, to where Jemma was laughing at Fandral's flirting, "but I had hoped that finding me to be your soulmate might be enough for you to choose me…"

Fitz's jaw dropped.

_She's serious._

_Oh my God, and I've just implied I don't want her…_

"Lady Sif," he grabbed at her hand as she drew it back, a hurt look on her face, caught it in his. It was so strong, callused, a warrior's hand; his felt weak and pathetic against it. "It's not that. I – am not _worthy_ of you. Could not _possibly_ be worthy of you."

That smile returned to her face, the one that could light up a room, and she pressed lightly on his fingers, stepping closer to him. "You will allow _me_ to decide that, Leo Fitz. I find you very much worthy. That a Maker of your calibre should be my mate – well, I am the one who is blessed, I assure you, all of Asgard will believe it so."

_Well everyone on Earth is going to think I'm the luckiest dog on the planet_, Fitz thought, and realised he'd said it out loud when she giggled. _Sif_. _Giggled_. She put the fingers of her free hand to her mouth and actually cast him a slightly coy look over them, before glancing around. No one was looking at them at the moment, as Fandral was monopolising everyone's attention with a noisy recounting of the battle with the Destroyer in New Mexico.

"Perhaps," Sif murmured, feeling very bold, "we could go somewhere a little more private and you could show me how lucky you are feeling just now?"

_Do not faint, Fitz. Do NOT faint._

"Sure," his voice came out a squeak.

Only May saw them slip quietly out of the room, and she assumed that Sif must have asked Fitz to show her some piece of technology.

Consequently, when Volstagg declared himself famished and Phil laughed and invited them into the kitchen, they were all rather stunned to find Fitz and Sif thoroughly entangled up against the fridge, he with no shirt on and she with several pieces of her armour removed.

Phil shut the door, blinked several times, opened it again.

_Nope, not a mirage_.

He shut the door again and looked at the stunned faces and dropped jaws around him.

"Maybe we'll just get takeout."

**928 words.**

**I can't quite see Fitz and Sif together unless for some reason he, as an engineer (or a Maker, as I've called them) would have a much higher status on Asgard than he realises. In which case **_**she's**_** the one who feels like she's lucky to have **_**him**_** – any chump who trains hard enough can be a warrior, in her opinion, but to be a Maker is something special.**

**As a qualified engineer myself, I like this idea ;-)**

**Can't you just IMAGINE the looks on all their faces though? I'm cracking up just thinking about it. Even Hunter would be lost for a snappy retort.**


	88. Sounds Good To Me (Mack & Darcy)

**Sounds Good To Me**

_Mack/Darcy_

ShockedMechanic

**Theme song:**

**Kasey Chambers – Not Pretty Enough**

**I actually discovered, much to my horror, that I somehow left Mack/Darcy off the Poll.**

**WELL THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH, I told myself, and went with my usual response of OH FUCK IT, I'M GONNA WRITE IT ANYWAY.**

_I'm so utterly out of my league it's not funny. What am I doing here?_

Mack looked glumly around the big room. Everyone in there was a heavy hitter, a high-level agent, an Avenger or a science genius.

_Except me. I'm just a mechanic. Why did Coulson make me come along, again?_

Mack sighed and eyed the door wistfully. They'd parked the SUV downstairs in a garage where there was an amazing array of sports cars and he'd so much rather be down there, admiring them, than here trying to make polite conversation with people he had nothing in common with. And who were completely not interested in talking to him.

There were three distinct groups, the science geniuses (Foster, Banner, Selvig, FitzSimmons), the badasses (Hawkeye, Black Widow, Bobbi, Hunter and May) and the tactical types (Hill, Rogers, Coulson and, surprisingly, Skye). Stark floated between all three groups as he bored of conversations.

The only other person besides Mack who didn't seem to fit was the dark-haired young woman who'd been airily introduced by Stark as 'Darcy, science wrangler extraordinaire'. She was currently on her own but looking completely unbothered about it, browsing at the buffet table.

That wasn't a bad idea, actually. Stark had certainly laid on a spread for this first formal meeting between the teams and Mack was, as always, hungry. It took a lot to keep his big frame running. He ambled over in that direction and picked up a plate.

Darcy had a habit of eating when she felt nervous or uncomfortable. And she was very much out of her comfort zone right now. All the Avengers (barring Thor who was on Asgard) in one room together usually led to at least one fight breaking out anyway. With each other if they couldn't find a common enemy. Add in a gang of SHIELD badasses and she could almost hear the explosions in the distance.

She examined the buffet offerings. _Well, the catering staff had come up trumps anyway_. She glanced up as a shadow fell over her, saw the enormous black guy from the SHIELD team, Mack or Mick she thought his name was. He was tall and muscular enough to make even Cap look ordinary, which was really saying something. Seriously badass. They probably used him as a battering ram. She offered a nervous smile and held up a small pastry parcel.

"What d'you think this might be?"

Dark eyes widened, and he actually took a step back, which made Darcy blink. He couldn't _possibly_ be shy, could he? Not a guy that size who looked like _that_…

It was the first time in his life anyone had said the words written in loopy script on Mack's hipbone. And that it should be this deliciously curvaceous brunette with the lush mouth and the huge blue eyes… he blinked rapidly.

_I couldn't possibly be that lucky. Surely not._

She was still waiting for him to respond, her smile turning quizzical.

_Say something, you look like a complete idiot_… "Um," he muttered, "I guess you'd have to taste it and see?"

Darcy's mouth fell open. "_You_," she said disbelievingly.

"Yeah. Looks like." A huge hand hovered nervously near his hip, then he held it out towards her. "Um. I'm Mack."

She took his hand a bit numbly. "But you're one of the SHIELD badasses, you _can't_ be my soulmate," she blurted.

A wry smile curved his mouth. "SHIELD, yeah. Badass, no. I'm a mechanic. I'm really not too sure why I've been dragged along today, to be honest. I think Coulson just likes to have me stand around and look intimidating."

"That looks like a natural talent of yours," Darcy said with a small grin. Her hand absolutely disappeared in his massive one. She could feel the calluses on his palms, the rough skin telling of the hard work he did. "I think I was just brought along in case there were any awkward silences because then I could fill them with babble."

He grinned back, showing beautifully even white teeth. "So since both of us feel like we don't belong here…"

"Let's blow this party and go make a better one by ourselves?" Darcy suggested hopefully. Because _hoo boy_, Mack was _hot_, his tight grey T-shirt emphasizing a beautifully muscled body. _Unf_. She eyed him appreciatively up and down, taking a step closer.

"I like the way you think, blue eyes." And oh boy, did he _ever_ like the view as she moved closer. His height gave him the perfect angle to look into that spectacular cleavage.

Mack couldn't get a deep breath as Darcy held out her hand to him and nodded towards the door. He glanced around. Nobody was looking at them, so he took it and followed her.

"Where are we going?" Mack asked as she pulled him towards the elevator.

"Jane's lab, which will be empty right now." She turned and looked up, all the way up, into his eyes. She was so little, the top of her head didn't even reach his shoulder. _A pocket Venus_, Mack thought hungrily, a deliciously sweet armful of curves and sass. He moved in towards her, leaned his arm on the wall above her head.

"That sounds good to me," he rumbled deeply. "Bein' alone with you."

"Yeah. Because then I can _mack_ on you all I want and nobody's gonna care." Darcy grinned at the pun on his name.

Mack smiled back at her. "That sounds _really_ good," he murmured softly, and his head dipped as Darcy closed her eyes and parted her lips.

Of course, they lost track of time, and _of course_ the tour of the Tower got to the lab just as Mack was showing Darcy the words on his hip. As the whole of both teams were treated to the rather spectacular sight of Mack's naked ass, it was Hunter who recovered first to make the retort.

"This time, _you're_ cleaning the surfaces, Mack!"

**999 words.**

**If you didn't already know, I have a headcanon (it started with my Huntingbird short smutfic What Happens In The Car…) that Mack has an unfortunate habit of catching people (ESPECIALLY Bobbi and Hunter) going at it and then bitching about having to disinfect surfaces afterwards – or perhaps handing over bottles of bleach and scrub cloths with pointed glares at the surfaces in question.**

**I'm going to have to write a 5+1 fic sometime, 5 times Mack Caught People Going At It And Made Them Clean Up, and 1 time They All Caught Him… Darcy would be a perfect partner in crime for that one, I think…**

**OKAY SO I WROTE THAT It's called The Accidental Voyeur, would love to know what you think!**

**This is the first Mack/Darcy fic as far as I can tell, and IMHO it's another ship there should be more of. Mack needs a love interest (other than Fitz – I confess to a guilty pleasure in a bit of FitzMack occasionally). And Darcy would properly appreciate all. those. muscles.**

**They may well appear as a pairing in future tales of mine…**


	89. Forevermore (Skye & Heimdall)

**Forevermore**

_Skye/Heimdall_

GuardianQuake

**Theme Song:**

**30 Seconds To Mars – Closer To The Edge**

She was _tired_.

It felt like she'd been fighting for ever. Wearing herself out using the power that she still struggled to control, until finally she had nothing left to give. Blood dripped from her nose as she gathered herself for one, last, final effort. She'd take him with her if that was what it took.

On her knees and still defiant, Skye watched as Grant Ward paced closer, across the shattered ground towards her. He'd waited his chance, patient like a spider, and now, when she was all out of fight, or so he thought, he would strike.

A flare of light dazzled Skye's eyes. Barely able to stay conscious, she blinked, trying to make out what was happening, but could only see a tall, golden form between her and Ward.

_Oh – am I dead already? Is that an angel? Good – Ward will never get into heaven – but then neither will I, probably…_

Ward stared at the golden-armoured form that had suddenly appeared in a flare of rainbow light between him and Skye. Massive sword in hand, the warrior was huge, probably close to seven feet tall. Ward hesitated.

"She's mine."

"She never was, and she never will be. You cannot own people, Grant Ward. It is not for you to decide what is best for anyone other than yourself. Unless you learn that lesson, you will never find contentment."

Heimdall stepped back to where Skye had collapsed. He'd been watching from Asgard, admiring her courage in the face of the odds stacked against her, the trap this cunning, conniving man had created to break her spirit, regretted that there was no way for him to reach out to aid her in her hopeless fight. And then to his astonishment Odin had ordered him to intervene. Told him that the maiden was too important to the future of the Realms to let Ward take her.

"You can't…" Ward drew a gun, stepped forward. Stopped breathing as the tip of the warrior's sword pricked his throat.

"Drop it or die."

He was too fast to be human. He had to be Asgardian. Which meant Ward was outmatched. Slowly, face burning with impotent rage, he opened his hand and let the gun fall.

"She is not for you, Grant Ward." Heimdall stooped, never letting the tip of his sword waver, and lifted Skye's limp body easily in his free arm. "You will never see her again." It was a promise rather than a prophecy, but Heimdall vowed to himself he would ensure it became reality. "Odin."

The Bifrost exploded in a shower of rainbows around him, and the last thing he saw of Midgard was Grant Ward's face twisting in a maddened scream.

"Good; you have her." Odin stepped down from the Bifrost mechanism, moved forward to Skye's side, stripping off his gloves and placing his hands on her head. "She over-used her powers, but she will live. Lay her down, Heimdall."

"Here?" He was reluctant to place her on the cold stone floor. It seemed wrong. "No. Not here." Turning, he walked down the hidden stairway to his rooms below the Bifrost chamber. Laid Skye gently upon his own bed.

Odin followed, a knowing smile upon his face. He stood back, watching from the shadows as Heimdall stripped off his gauntlets, gently moved Skye's dark hair away from where it had tumbled across her face. Touched his fingertips lightly to the pulse in her neck.

Skye woke thinking her throat was being cut. She let out a gargled scream and clutched at her neck, only to encounter a massive, warm hand pressing gently on her skin.

"What the _hell_!" Her eyes snapped open and she stared up into golden eyes in a dark-skinned face. "Who are you? Where _am_ I?" as she focussed past him and saw fluted stone columns.

"You are on Asgard, Lady Skye," Heimdall rumbled, getting past his shock. He turned to give Odin a stare – the All-Father only smiled and departed. He'd _known_, though how – _ah, of course, Lady Frigga's scrying pool_. Heimdall shook his head, turned back to look at his soulmate. "I am Heimdall. The Guardian."

"I've heard of you."

_Of course she'd heard of him_. Sif had mentioned him, and he'd appeared numerous times in the Norse myths Skye had read with interest once she realised that many of the legends were real.

_No one ever mentioned that he was gorgeous, though… I'm being ridiculous, all Asgardians are gorgeous._

_How do I tell her? I cannot tell her_… Heimdall watched as Skye levered herself slowly to her feet, looking around.

"What happened to my neck? It hurt and now it doesn't. Or do you Asgardians have some kind of super alien healing magic?" Spotting a mirror on the wall, Skye headed in that direction. Stared disbelievingly at the golden runes on her throat. "What the _actual_ fuck, did you guys _tattoo_ me?" She wheeled and looked up at Heimdall, who, _oh wow_, he was _crazy_ tall as he moved close to her.

"Lady Skye," he hesitated, and then he held out one of his hands. She looked at it, puzzled, saw golden runes shimmering on his dark skin. An exact match to the ones on her throat.

"I don't understand?" she looked up into his eyes.

"You are my soulmate," he said it quietly. _Knowing_ she wouldn't believe.

"Ah, _no_," Skye let out a snort. His silence made her reconsider. "Wait. You're serious. An immortal god is _my_ soulmate?"

"Neither immortal nor a god. But yours. Yes, my lady, I am and will be forevermore yours." He slid to his knees with a clank of armour, took her hand in his and brought her fingertips to his brow. Submitting himself to her utterly.

Skye's jaw hung open. For long moments she couldn't come up with a thing to say. And then finally she managed to get out;

"Well, maybe the universe really does like me after all."

**994 words.**

**I've started the continuations for Bucky/Wanda (My Mission), for Skye/Angel (If I Had A Dollar…) and also wrote that 5+1 for Mack/Darcy I promised yesterday (The Accidental Voyeur).**

**Happy reading! I'm off to Adelaide for 5 days from tomorrow night for a family wedding so there will be very limited posting – don't get withdrawal symptoms, now!**


	90. Yes, Ma'am (May & Clint)

**Yes, Ma'am**

_May/Clint_

Mayton, possibly? Clinda? Maylint? BarMay(d) would be funnier, though…

**Theme song:**

**Big & Rich – Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy**

Melinda May was just thinking _Oh fuck, this isn't going at all well_, when the arrows started whizzing over her head. _And now they're getting worse, because there's only one possibility as to where they are coming from_…

That said, she was probably no longer in quite so much danger of imminent death, since the rain of bullets had stopped. Cautiously, she poked her head up from behind the dumpster she'd taken hasty shelter behind.

_I'm totally going to stop volunteering to go scout places out for Coulson…_

A hissing sound and a thud behind her had her turning to look up into a pair of flinty blue-grey eyes.

"Well well, look what I found," Clint drawled, disconnecting the grapple arrow and stalking towards the deceptively delicate-looking woman. _Very_ deceptive, he was sure, because he'd just watched her silently take out half a dozen guards before they were alerted to her presence and started firing on her position. He'd been sitting on the roof for _days_ looking for an opening to invade this place. And she'd just created one. One corner of his mouth kicked up. "I don't know who you are. But how do you feel about a little more murder and mayhem before we blow this place sky high?"

May found herself grinning back at him. "I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful partnership."

He startled, blue-grey eyes flying wide as they raked over her comprehensively. And then his lips curled in a wicked grin. "I _hope_ this is going to be the start of a whole lot more than that, gorgeous. Clint Barton."

_Holy crap, it's really real. HAWKEYE is my soulmate. MY soulmate._

"Melinda May." She gave him a long look in return, her eyes lingering on his thickly muscled arms. His tight ass as he turned to scope the area behind them, make sure there were no more incoming guards. _Well, today's certainly looking up_.

"Wait," Clint's brain processed that quickly. "The _Cavalry_?"

"Don't call me that."

"But you're a legend!"

"Pot, kettle." She grinned over her shoulder at him as they ran.

He chuckled quietly. "Eh. I'm just a grunt with good aim."

She shook her head at his self-deprecating remark. "Sshh now. We've work to do."

Clint smiled, selected an explosive arrow. "You first, Cavalry."

"Do _not_ call me that, Barton!"

They were making their way quietly through the dark streets together an hour later when Clint nudged her shoulder gently. "You sure I can't call you Cavalry?"

"I really hate that nickname." May glanced sideways at him. "Why would you want to use it?"

The grin he cast her was absolutely filthy. "Well, I'm thinkin' it would suit. I'd love to see you ridin' _me_ like a mustang, anyway."

May actually tripped over her own feet for the first time since she was about three years old. A powerful hand clasped around her bicep, saved her from falling. She stared up at Clint. "What did you say?"

"You heard me. D'you like country music?"

She blinked. "What?" She couldn't keep up with his train of thought. Not after he'd put _that_ image in her mind, anyway.

Clint chuckled. Carried on walking. Started singing, softly, in a lovely smoky voice, as they walked down the darkened street.

She didn't know the song. But judging from the lyrics, it was called _Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy_.

"Shut _up_. You are totally making that song up!" She couldn't help but grin. It seemed her soulmate was a bit of a troll. Just like her, only she was less obvious about it.

"No, cowgirl. Not making it up." He licked his lips at her, and she lost it completely, shoved him up against the wall – he let her, obviously, he was probably twice her weight in solid muscle – and climbed him like a tree, fisting her hands tightly in his short blond hair as she plastered her mouth to his.

"See," Clint murmured when she let him up for air, "You _do_ know how to shut me up."

"I'm going to keep that mouth of yours too busy to _dare_ call me Cavalry."

"Yes, ma'am."

**696 words.**

**Sorry, but I have to stop there, or I'd have to change the rating for the whole fic…**

…**please feel free to let your imagination fill in the rest, LOL, or if anyone wants to write in the aftermath, you know where to find me…**

**There are still LOTS of Shorts that my readers would love to see continued! Even if you've never written anything before, I'd be happy to coach you through – one chapter would be enough if you can't see your way to more!**


	91. The Luckiest Guy (SteveWanda)

**The Luckiest Guy**

_Steve/Wanda_

Captain Witch – or Scarlet Captain?

**Theme Song:**

**Daniel Bedingfield – Gotta Get Thru This**

"So. Where next?" Steve slumped into a chair at the Mission Room table.

Maria tapped her screen. "This place, we think. It's in Austria…"

"Well that used to be Ground Zero for HYDRA," Bucky muttered, traded glances with Steve across the table. "Looks like things ain't changed much."

"Is that a castle?" Steve said incredulously as an image flashed up on the big screen.

"They call it a _schloss_, in Austria – yeah, it's pretty much a castle. The guy who owns it is some kind of minor nobility. Baron von Strucker. We believe he's HYDRA."

Both Steve and Bucky jerked upright as a picture appeared. "That's not possible!" Steve gasped.

"Shit, Stevie, it looks like the same guy," Bucky whispered, wide-eyed.

"Which is why we've picked him out. After Coulson's information about Whitehall aka Dr Werner Reinhardt, Tony started JARVIS on scanning old file images of known HYDRA scientists and doing facial recognition searches against people alive today. Whereupon we identified this guy. Masquerading, as far as we can tell, as his own grandson."

Bucky was looking queasy. "He was one of Red Skull's people. One of the guys in that facility where they experimented on me…"

"We're _definitely_ going after this place next," Steve said with finality.

Of course, it turned out to be a whole lot bigger than it looked. There was a network of underground tunnels under the castle, a maze that took hours to clean out of the HYDRA rats inhabiting it, even with all the firepower at their disposal. They finally ran von Strucker to ground at the very heart of the facility, in a laboratory that made Bucky shudder just to look at it and Steve's hands tighten on the rim of his shield. There were two cells there, glass-walled, one empty, one occupied by a young, white-haired man, who was banging on the glass and shouting soundlessly.

Von Strucker stood in the centre of the room, a young woman at his side. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, she was delicately pretty in a way that would make any man look twice.

And there was a red glow surrounding her hands that Steve didn't like the look of _at all_.

"There!" von Strucker shouted as Steve and Bucky came into the room. "Do it, destroy them!"

The young woman's hands came up, the red glow brightening.

"I wouldn't do that, miss," Steve called out to her.

She hesitated, dark eyes widening.

"Now, do it now!" von Strucker roared, reaching to the panel in front of him. "Or your brother dies!"

Tears ran down Wanda's face as she was presented with an agonising choice; kill the soulmate she'd just found, before he even knew her – or lose the brother dearer to her than her own life. She sobbed – and her soulmate took the choice from her, doing something she could never have predicted.

He flung his shield like a giant Frisbee, directly at the glass sealing Pietro's cell.

Even rocket-proof glass could not stand up to a vibranium shield thrown with the strength of the world's greatest super-soldier. The glass shattered into a million fragments – Pietro fortunately had seen it coming and used his speed to leap back, or he might have been knocked down too – and von Strucker started back, his mouth opening and closing with shock.

Almost as fast as Pietro could move, Steve was in front of her, sparing her only a single glance before his hand closed on von Strucker's throat and he threw the Nazi across the room to land at Bucky's feet. Bucky looked down at the scientist, gasping for breath, throat half-crushed from Steve's grip, and smiled slowly.

"You always do give me the nicest presents, punk."

"Just make sure he's ready to talk when you're done," Steve said, looking down at Wanda warily. "Miss? Your brother's going to be all right," he gestured at Pietro, climbing a bit unsteadily out of his cell.

She didn't know what to say to him, so she let her hex dissipate and ran to Pietro instead, clutching at him like a child, burying her head in his chest. It had been years since they'd been able to touch, always one of them had been penned like an animal, under threat to make the other comply.

"I've got you," her brother soothed gently in their native tongue, stroking her hair. "We're going to be all right, Wanda. Let me take you out of here."

She shook her head. "Soulmate," she gestured back at Captain America, who was surveying the control panels with a disgusted expression. The Winter Soldier had already dragged a screaming von Strucker away.

"Really?" Pietro blinked in surprise. "Captain America?"

Wanda nodded a bit shyly. "He doesn't know yet."

For another long moment Pietro held her tight, savouring the last moments when his beloved twin was his and only his. And then he kissed her brow. "Best go let him know he's the luckiest guy in the world, then."

Steve's head snapped up as the dark-haired girl came back over to him. Her brother stood watching, arms folded over a muscular chest. "Miss?" he said, still wary of _whatever_ that red glow had been around her hands. "Were the two of you prisoners here? We're happy to help you…"

The smile she gave him was shy but blindingly beautiful, and then she said in softly accented English;

"I've been waiting for you for so long."

Steve's jaw dropped.

"My name's Wanda," she pushed up the sleeve of the red leather jacket she was wearing and showed him a line of writing along her forearm. _His_ writing. _I wouldn't do that, miss_. "And I'm very pleased to meet you, Captain."

"Steve," he said automatically. "Call me – Steve." He reached shaking fingers, touched her cheek lightly, pushed back a lock of tangled dark hair. "You're – _mine_?" She was _beautiful_. Far too lovely, too special, for a kid from Brooklyn…

She tilted her cheek into his palm, smiled again. "Always."

**999 words.**


	92. One Too Many Shocks (Darcy & Deadpool)

**One Too Many Shocks **

_Darcy/Deadpool_

DeadShock

**Theme Song:**

**Britney Spears – Hit Me Baby, One More Time**

**In timeline terms, this takes place about half an hour after the Helicarrier crashes into the Triskelion…**

**TRIGGER WARNING: Darcy is being subjected to a sexual assault when Deadpool gets to her. And, um, there's slapping. And hints of BDSM. Christ, what am I like? Look, over there, it's all Deadpool's fault! *runs away to hide***

Darcy was staring at the TV in utter horror, her mouth hanging open. Captain America being declared a fugitive was one thing – Steve Rogers was a nice guy and there was no way he'd done what they were saying – but this shit was _fucked up_. She grabbed for her phone to text Jane, ask if she was watching this, before remembering that Jane was on Asgard with Thor. Her phone wasn't there anyway. She pawed at the coffee table, turned her head to look.

_Huh, where's my phone?_

A movement across the room made her look up. Ian was there, her phone in one hand – and a gun in the other.

"I'm sorry about this, Darcy."

It took a couple of seconds for her to put it together. "You're HYDRA."

"I'm afraid so. And you're now a hostage. Dr Foster will co-operate to keep you safe, and Thor will do anything for her. So put your hands on your head, Darcy. Nice and slow."

Her Taser was in her purse. On the other side of the room. And Ian looked frighteningly competent with that gun. Darcy remembered, suddenly, how surprised she'd been when he proved not-useless in the fight against the Dark Elves.

_That was a Clue, Darcy, you moron. And now you're screwed._

_Literally._

A few tears of rage ran down her cheeks as Ian cuffed her hands roughly behind her back, laughed quietly in her ear and licked her neck.

"Such a co-operative little girl."

Sick with disgust, Darcy tried to turn away from him, but he shoved her against the wall, rough hands curving over her breasts. "How about once more for old times' sake before I have to hand you over, sweet thing?"

"Get off me," she choked, trying to bite him as he leaned in to kiss her. A cruel laugh was her only answer – and then a calm voice saying,

"Do as the lady says, buddy."

Two heads snapped around in shock, took in the muscular blond guy in a red and black skinsuit crouched on the windowsill, a pair of long swords in his hands. And then Ian let go of Darcy and grabbed for the gun.

"Be with you in a minute, sweetheart!" the blond said cheerfully to Darcy, leaping off the windowsill. "Better take cover!"

She was too shocked to move. She'd always thought that _be with you in a minute, sweetheart_, was the kind of thing some utter jerkoff would say to her, probably looking at her breasts while he dismissed her as unimportant in the grander scheme of things.

Not a superhero apparently here to save her from an extremely unpleasant fate.

Which he was doing extremely competently – and _impossibly_ – flicking bullets out of the air with his swords as Ian jerked the trigger. A couple of strides forward, a slight smile still on his handsome face, and Ian was sliding limply to the floor, lifeless body dropping off the bloodied tip of one of those long, wickedly sharp blades.

"Job done. Let's get you out of those cuffs, sweetheart." Wade wiped his katana clean, sheathed them both on his back and reached for the beautiful, curvaceous brunette. He couldn't help but notice how magnificently her breasts jutted forward with her hands cuffed behind her like that. _Holy crap, look at those boobs. I wanna go down on my knees and worship those boobs…_

"I think you might be my soulmate."

The small voice froze him just as he was picking the lock on the cuffs. He stared down into shocked blue eyes.

"In that case, I'm even happier I came to help out a damsel in distress," Wade said slowly, forcing himself to concentrate on the lock.

"Why _are_ you here?"

"Erik Selvig called. Asked me to check up on you."

"He has the strangest friends."

"Better than yours, it seems," Wade huffed, glancing at the dead body on the floor. "I gotta say you have terrible taste in men."

"Says my soulmate."

He couldn't help a grin at her sass as one cuff clicked open. "Yeah. Well. I'm the dictionary definition of _terrible taste in men_, sweetheart."

Darcy found herself grinning too. _This is probably the most awkward soulmate-meeting in the history of the world. He just killed my traitor-boyfriend_.

"I'm thinking things are rather looking up in that department, actually. I'm Darcy."

"I know." Pretty brown eyes flicked up to hers for a moment, and then he carried on working at the other cuff. "Wade. Wade Wilson. Also known as Deadpool."

He risked another glance at her face, saw that her jaw had dropped. "Want to pretend I didn't say that last bit?"

"I might have had one too many shocks today," Darcy said a bit weakly.

The other cuff popped open. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Not going to get any better. I need to get you out of here and leaving by the front door might not be wise."

"What are you _ARGH_!" Darcy shrieked as he scooped her over his shoulder and leaped out of the window.

About ten of the most terrifying minutes of Darcy's life later, they entered a completely different apartment – by the window again.

"Do you have an aversion to doors or something?" she panted angrily as Wade finally set her on her feet.

He tipped his head, apparently thinking about it. "No. But I don't use them a lot."

All the tensions of the day finally caught up with Darcy and her hand cracked out before she even thought about it.

Wade's head snapped to one side. He brought it back slowly, her handprint blossoming red on his cheek, worked his jaw lightly and then grinned. His brown eyes gleamed as he slid slowly to his knees, put his hands behind his back and gripped his left wrist in his right hand.

"Hit me baby, one more time. Or lots. Please."

_Oh. OH._

_He really is my soulmate…_

**989 words.**

**Surprise – you didn't think Deadpool would turn out to be a sub, did you?**

**I have no idea how this turned out like that. I totally didn't start out to write it this way. Deadpool, apparently, has his own ideas about how I should write him, though, and he thinks that he needs Darcy to control his completely unstable self!**


	93. I'm Not His Girl (Steve & Pepper)

**I'm Not His Girl**

_Pepper/Steve_

Stepper? LOL!

Theme song:

The Temptations – My Girl

**Since I tend to write to fit into the MCU where possible, this therefore implies that Steve and Pepper didn't meet post-Avengers. Therefore, I'm going to say that although Tony and Pepper were seen planning the rebuilding of the Tower, since it clearly wasn't habitable at that point, Fury kidnapped Steve for SHIELD and he ended up in DC while Tony and Pepper went back to Malibu. IM3 happened and Tony was presumably recovering from his heart surgery when CA:TWS happened – this to me is the only reason why Iron Man wouldn't have been zooming around interfering!**

**Consequently, this is set just after CA:TWS. Immediately after, in fact, when Steve is in hospital…**

"Say that again?" Pepper was completely disbelieving. Maria Hill sighed down the phone line.

"Fury's dead. SHIELD is – gone. I need, I guess I'm going to call it asylum. SI has enough clout to give it to me."

Pepper was sitting by Tony's bedside. He was recovering, slowly, from his surgery, but he still tired quickly. Either she, Bruce or Rhodey was always with him, and she was suddenly very glad of that fact, if SHIELD was HYDRA, who could they trust? Something occurred to her then.

"What about the Avengers? Barton, Romanoff – Captain Rogers?"

Maria hesitated. "Romanoff has gone public, as you'll have seen. She's relying, in effect, on her status as an Avenger to get her immunity from prosecution. I can't talk about Agent Barton at the moment. He's safe and he's not HYDRA, put it that way. Captain Rogers is in hospital. He was injured and almost drowned."

"In what hospital? Where?" Pepper immediately demanded, reaching for her StarkPad. "A public hospital? Unacceptable. I'll get him transferred here immediately."

One of the things she'd insisted on building in to the newly rebuilt Avengers Tower was a large, and fully staffed, medical centre. There was more than enough room for Captain Rogers and any necessary entourage.

"Thank you so much, Pepper," Maria sighed with relief. "Sam and I will escort him. I just don't feel comfortable with him here, he seems so vulnerable…"

Pepper shook her head after hanging up. _Captain America, vulnerable?_ It seemed so _unlikely_. Everything Tony had said about Steve Rogers made him sound invincible, unbreakable. But then Maria wasn't one to exaggerate.

Rhodey agreed to go down to DC and then fly escort for the ambulance. The entire airspace around the city was still shut down except for military flights – but War Machine _was_ military. Maria would drive the ambulance and apparently some guy called Sam Wilson was coming in with Rogers too. Pepper told JARVIS to give them all security access.

Bruce was sitting with Tony – getting his ear talked off as usual – when JARVIS informed Pepper that the little convoy had arrived. She got to the suite in the medical centre she'd set aside for Captain Rogers just in time to see Maria and Rhodey wheeling in his stretcher.

_Oh my God the poor man_. He looked positively grey. But then he'd almost drowned in the Potomac yesterday after a brutally exhausting fight with the Winter Soldier. Maria parked the stretcher and Pepper saw Rogers wince as he jolted slightly. She couldn't help but hurry forward, reach for one of the big hands lying lax by his side and take it in hers.

"Everything's going to be all right, Captain, you're safe now."

Cornflower-blue eyes turned to hers, widened.

Maria Hill sucked in a shocked breath.

"Who are you?" Steve rasped. His throat still hurt; he'd pretty much hacked up his lungs coughing after nearly drowning yesterday. The woman at his side, holding his hand, was lovely. Strawberry blonde hair, lovely blue eyes, freckles across a dainty nose. She was taller than Maria, so a nice height, he thought, quite tall. He'd never tire of looking at her, this stunning dame who'd said his soulmate words.

And then she opened her mouth again and tore out his heart.

"I'm Pepper Potts."

_Oh my God, no._

"You're Tony's girl," he coughed out. "You're all he ever talks about." _I can't steal you away from Tony, it would kill him…_

Pepper let out a slight chuckle. She'd had a startled moment when he'd said her soulmark words, but then _Who are you?_ was something that had been said to her quite a few times in her life at this point. The thought of Captain America being her soulmate was just _ridiculous_. That said, she couldn't let him continue under a misapprehension.

"Tony and I are best friends. Platonic soulmates. We're really close, I'd do anything for him – but I'm not _his girl_."

"You're not?" He was vaguely aware of Maria pushing Rhodey and a protesting Sam out of the room, looking back over her shoulder at him and winking frantically, nodding her head in Pepper's direction. _Maria's been spending too much time with Tasha_, he thought inconsequentially, and smiled slightly, tightening his hand on Pepper's. Agent Hill knew very well what his soulmark said. She'd seen the precise, neat script across his left pectoral muscle.

"No, I'm not," Pepper managed to get out. Steve had pushed himself to sit upright, holding her hand firmly, his amazingly blue eyes intent on hers. And then he let go of her hand, and _oh good God_, he was stripping off his tight white T-shirt and pointing at his chest.

_Wow. Muscles_. She stared helplessly. _So. Many. Muscles_.

"Is this your writing?"

"Whut?"

How could he _possibly_ expect her to focus on that little bit of writing when _muscles_? It took her a few moments to blink into focus and realise what he was asking.

"_No_," she said in disbelief. Saw his look of disappointment – _disappointment_! "I mean – yes. It is, actually. I'm just having difficulty believing that Captain America could be _my_ soulmate!"

The smile that dawned across his face was like the sun coming up. He reached for her hand again, cradled it between two strong ones.

"I'm thinkin' _I'm_ the lucky one, ma'am."

"You'd better call me Pepper." A little shyly, she perched her hip on the edge of the bed.

"Then I'm Steve. Pepper." He lifted her hand to his lips in an old-fashioned courtesy, and she just about swooned. "And I'm _really_ lookin' forward to getting to know you better."

She blushed. And thought, from the look in his blue eyes, that Tony was a _very_ long way off base with his Virgin Captain jokes.

_Well, I daresay I'll have lots of fun finding out…_

**972 words.**

**I am rather awed and humbled by the reactions to Darcy/Deadpool yesterday. But I'm going to have to disappoint you all by saying that at the current time, I have no plans to continue that. I CANNOT have Deadpool taking up residence in my head again, because when he does I can't write anything else – and since you all keep begging me for more **_**Shorts**_**, more **_**Stockholm Syndrome**_**, **_**My Mission**_**, **_**If I Had A Dollar**_**, and indeed **_**The Hulk And The Waitress**_** and **_**A Shattered Reflection**_** (both of which I WILL finish – eventually) I just can't go there right now.**

**So if anyone thinks THEY could write more Deadpool/Darcy and would like to have a go – get in touch. I'm happy to beta, help and plot-brainstorm with you. I just can't write it for you.**

**That said, if nobody else does pick it up, I might get there eventually…**


	94. Are You Seeing This? (Bucky & Bobbi)

**Are You Seeing This?**

_Bobbi Morse/Bucky Barnes_

Winterbird

**Theme song:**

**Matchbox 20 – I Believe In Everything**

**(you can assume that Bobbi and Hunter finally decided it wasn't going to work and just gave up)**

They came face to face in a HYDRA safehouse that Skye had identified with some tricky hacking. Coulson sent Bobbi and May in to scope the place out.

"Are you seeing this, Morse?" May's voice said in her comm.

"Oh yeah." Bobbi had found three bodies so far. Freshly dead, every single one of them with guns in hand and in some cases recently fired, when she sniffed at the barrels. Yet there was not a drop of blood spilled anywhere. The kills had all been made hand-to-hand, each of the three dead with broken necks.

Bobbi stood and assessed the room. Cocked her head as she saw the bullet holes in the walls. They didn't compute, from the firing angles. Ricochets, every one.

"Captain America hasn't been here with his shield, has he?" she asked over the comm.

"Not that we know of," May responded, but Bobbi barely heard, because someone had taken in a sharply indrawn breath behind her. She whirled, her batons coming up – and two powerful hands, one flesh and one metal, locked around her wrists, forcing them up to point her batons at the ceiling.

Bobbi writhed, twisting like a dervish to try and escape, but her attacker anticipated her every move and suddenly she was flat on her back on the floor, a heavy body pinning her down. Ice-blue eyes stared into hers from behind a curtain of tangled black hair.

"What do you know of _him_?" the Winter Soldier rasped.

Wide-eyed with panic, Bobbi's brain was working feverishly. She knew who the Winter Soldier was. Steve Rogers' efforts to track him down hadn't gone unnoticed, and a little research in HYDRA's databases had provided the truth. The question was, should she try to claim to know Rogers, or not? Would Barnes kill her either way?

The fact that he'd just said her soulmate words seemed rather irrelevant in the face of the metal hand closing slowly on her throat.

"I've never met him," she gasped out quickly before he cut her air supply completely, "but I know who he is."

The hand stilled. For a long, long moment they stared at each other.

"Huh," Bucky said thoughtfully, and let go. Stood up and held out his hand to help the statuesque blonde up. She eyed it warily, reaching for the batons that had skittered away when she fell. He didn't attempt to stop her.

"So who are you?" Bucky asked.

"My name's Bobbi." She hesitated, but she had her batons back in her hands now, felt a little safer, though it was an illusory safety, she suspected, looking at the ricochet holes in the walls. "I'm with SHIELD."

"That's just another name for HYDRA," Bucky's lip curled.

"Perhaps it was, but not anymore, I promise. I was here to do the job you've already done," she gestured at the dead bodies.

He looked around, grimaced. "It seems like the only thing I can do. Try to destroy them all. There's so much red in my ledger."

The phrase made Bobbi wince. It was one she'd heard Romanoff use, a time or three. Sheathing her batons, she reached her hand out to Bucky. "It wasn't your fault, Bucky. Or would you rather I call you Barnes, or James?"

"You're my soulmate, doll, you can call me anythin' you like," he said, with a flash of charm that made her smile. Slowly, he reached out to take her hand, his human fingers closing gently over hers.

She was almost the same height as him, this beautiful blonde dame with eyes like the ocean. Strong and capable, she was the kind of woman who'd take no shit from anyone, least of all him. As her slender fingers curved around his and she smiled back at him, Bucky felt something tight deep inside him begin to unwind, for the first time in forever, it felt like. Wonderingly, he stared at his soulmate, realising what the feeling was.

It was _hope_.

"You can come with me," Bobbi coaxed gently. "Nobody will hurt you, I promise. If you want to get in touch with Captain Rogers, I'll help you. And if you want to keep hiding from him – I'll help you do that too."

He said nothing, only stared at her from those ice-blue eyes.

"Oh, and if you want to keep killing HYDRA agents? They keep trying to hunt us down," Bobbi added, thinking of something that might appeal to him.

A snarl curled Bucky's lip again. "They've tried to hurt you, doll?"

"Oh, they want me _bad_. I was undercover with them for a time. Blew the whistle on a whole bunch of their secrets," Bobbi warmed to her theme. "There's a hefty price on my head."

His teeth bared. "They'll never touch so much as a hair on your head." He stepped closer, sliding his free arm around her waist. "Never."

"I can take care of myself, now, I won't tolerate you wrapping me in cotton wool," Bobbi warned, suddenly thinking she might have gone a bit too far.

"I know that, doll," his eyes were so blue. Bobbi could stare into them forever. And their lips were so _close_… he licked his, full pink lips in his stubbled face, and she lost it completely, sliding her arms around his neck and pulling him in for the kiss.

May was somewhat surprised, about a minute later, to walk into a room full of dead bodies and find Mockingbird and the Winter Soldier entwined in a passionate kiss in the middle of the carnage. Her dark eyes widened slowly with surprise.

"You know what? I'm just going to let _you_ explain this to Coulson. I don't think he'd believe me anyway."

**954 words.**

**They'd be awfully gorgeous together. And terrifyingly lethal.**


	95. I Like Complicated (Hunter,Clint& Bobbi)

**I Like Complicated**

_Hunter/Bobbi/Clint_

Huntinghawk

**Theme song:**

**LeAnn Rimes – The Right Kind Of Wrong**

**Chapter 61 can be considered prior canon for this story.**

"I promise it's nothing to do with us. But you _know_ how erratically Coulson's been acting."

There was nothing he could say to argue with that. So he met her eyes, the eyes of the only woman he'd ever loved and ever would, and said "So tell me who you're reporting to."

"Maria Hill."

"For _Stark_?" Bobbi had always bitched about that one time she'd met Stark and he managed to thoroughly piss her off by spending several minutes talking to her breasts. Not that Hunter blamed Stark, _he_ could spend hours talking to those breasts, but…

"For the _Avengers_," Bobbi corrected. "Come on, Hunter, you can't deny that everything would probably have gone a whole lot better in San Juan if we'd been able to call them in! Mack was supposed to do it, but…" she trailed off.

Hunter nodded slowly. He couldn't argue with her reasoning. But then, he rarely could. She had a way of telling you that black was white and making it seem utterly plausible.

"I'm coming with you. It's obvious you can't transmit the data for fear of interception, hence the data stick."

She sighed, seeing his implacable expression. "All right, you asshole."

"_Your_ asshole," he said fondly. "Always."

She couldn't help but grin back at him and draw him in for a kiss.

Maria didn't dare go out in public without a large armed escort. HYDRA were just dying to get their hands on her and strip her brain of everything she knew, so basically she lived in the Tower. It wasn't a bad place to live – but it meant she couldn't exactly go out to meet Bobbi, who had no intention of compromising her position in SHIELD by going to the Tower. Nor would Bobbi utilise a dead drop and risk the extremely sensitive information on the data stick falling into the wrong hands.

So Hunter and Bobbi went on a 'date'. For which Coulson was quite happy to give them an evening off, when Bobbi told him that she just wanted to get away from work and pretend she and Hunter could be a normal couple. Just for a night. It might even help with the constant fighting…

Coulson practically shoved them out the door. He didn't go so far as to lend them Lola, though, even though Hunter had the cheek to ask. And everyone else just wished them a nice evening, so they sauntered out and hopped into the SUV, drove into town and headed for the bar where the handover was due to occur.

"So what's the code phrase?" Hunter murmured to Bobbi as they walked in and found a table.

Bobbi checked her phone. "It's not verbal – it's in ASL. Huh. Maria's sent me a video clip. I don't know ASL…"

"I do," he reached for the phone. But his eye was distracted by a spectacular ass walking past, a solidly muscled guy in leather motorcycle pants and a blue denim jacket.

"_Hunter_," Bobbi sighed with a half-laugh. She knew he was bisexual. She'd always known. He'd been up front with her from the beginning about how hopeful he was that their shared third was a man. Not that Bobbi minded the idea. And goodness, if he was going to be distracted by a guy, that was one fine ass to choose…

The guy sat down three empty tables away, his back to the room, and without looking at them, began to sign with his fingers.

_Hi there good looking. Buy you a drink?_

Hunter gasped. Looked down at the phone in his hand. Looked at Bobbi with disbelief in his expression.

"What?" she said.

"It's my soulmark words. My other soulmark." The one that arched across his lower back. "Did Hill know?"

"How could she, you were never SHIELD, and I certainly never told anyone!"

Bobbi turned to stare at the guy, who was looking directly at them now. She could see he was actually wearing very tiny and discreet hearing aids. Must be at least partially deaf. She sucked in a breath as she recognised him. She'd seen his picture any number of times on SHIELD files. Had even been tasked to track him down when Loki took him. "Hunter, that's _Hawkeye_. Agent Barton."

"What!" Hunter blinked at her. "What's your half of the code phrase?"

"It's not specific. I just have to go over and tell him I'd like him to buy me a drink."

"Yeah, that's what the ASL says. Except he asked me, not you."

She arched an eyebrow at him, and suddenly they were both giggling like idiots. She held out a hand and Hunter took it and stood up, accompanying her over to the other table.

"Mind if we join you?" Hunter asked.

"Because we'd love that drink, but we're kind of a package deal."

Clint stared at the absolutely gorgeous couple who'd just sat down opposite him and said _both_ his sets of soulmark words. She was tall, blonde and stunning, and he had shaved dark hair, stubble and the watchful eyes of a career soldier.

"It really must be my lucky day," Clint said slowly, still trying to wrap his head around it.

"In more ways than one." The blonde laid her hand on the table beside his, lifted it to show a USB stick. He put his hand over it instinctively, brushed her fingers with his and felt the electricity spark between them. "I'm Barbara Morse, but call me Bobbi. This is Lance Hunter."

"Just Hunter," he said gruffly, reaching out to rest a hand on both theirs. Barton looked like he was in shock. "Why am I getting the feeling that we've just completely complicated all of our lives immeasurably?"

Clint recovered from his shock. Started to smile. "You know what? I _like_ complicated." He raised his free hand, gestured to a waiter. "Let me buy you that drink. And then we can talk about what _kind_ of complicated fun we're _all_ going to have."

**999 words.**

**Those three, oh my God. Too much sexy snarkiness with Clint and Hunter in the same place. UNF. I'm not sure even Bobbi could survive that.**

**I was asked a while ago for non-verbal soulmate words. So here they are; Clint was the obvious candidate to be involved due to his comic-canon deafness!**

**Also, for those of you who have been pleading with me for more slash pairings which I really struggle to write, you HAVE to check out CeliaEquus' **_**Fate Has A Twisted Sense Of Humour**_**. It's basically her own version of the **_**Soulmate Shorts**_** but she writes lots more slash than me and does it tremendously well. She's done 8 chapters already and I think so far Steve/Fitz is my favourite, but then Johnny/Phil is pretty damn excellent as well… get over there and enjoy! (And ask her for the slash pairings you want to see, why dontcha – she'll do a better job than I will, I'm sure!)**


	96. Run Away Again (Phil & Gamora)

**Run Away Again**

_Phil/Gamora_

Philora

**Theme song:**

**Heaven 17 – Temptation**

**This is the third (and final) in the series which began with Jemma/Peter Quill (ch.36) and continued with May/Drax (ch. 65). You may wish to re-read those two first before you start on this one. They will help set the tone ;-)**

**Incidentally, Gamora's race is referred to as the Zen Whoberi in comics and the Zehoberei in the MCU. Since this is set in the MCU – that's the version I went with.**

**We begin immediately after the end of ch. 65…**

She was green.

_Not_ blue.

Phil had to keep telling himself that, but every time he caught a glimpse of Gamora's skin he found himself getting what he felt was _quite understandably_ twitchy.

He couldn't seem to stop looking at her, though. Discounting the skin colour – and he was certainly not racist – she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. He wondered, suddenly, if she was a little shy, as she stood to one side in his office, not engaging with any of his team, just watching with a slight smile as Rocket enthusiastically argued some point of physics with Fitz.

"May I top up your drink?" He'd avoided a quiet approach. Gamora didn't seem jumpy, but he'd heard from Jemma all about how lethal she was.

Gamora turned and smiled at the leader of SHIELD. He was a pleasant size, not overly large like Peter or Drax. But for his skin colour, Director Coulson might almost have been Zehoberei. "I thank you," she said with a little smile. "I was enjoying the blue beverage."

"The Bombay Sapphire gin. Ice and tonic?"

"No, thank you."

"Er, neat?" Phil blinked. She smiled. He shrugged and poured a generous measure into her glass. "I can't say I've ever met anyone who enjoyed their gin neat before."

"I have two livers, Jemma tells me. I process alcohol rather more efficiently than humans."

"Oh," Phil blinked. Couldn't help a glance down Gamora's body, wondering what else about her internal biology was different. _Where would a second liver fit…? Be polite, Phil_. "Jemma has never mentioned the name of your race?" he invited her to start the conversation.

"The Zehoberei." Her soft mouth turned down. "I am the last of them. Thanos destroyed my people."

"I'm so sorry," Phil said inadequately.

Slender shoulders lifted in an eloquent shrug. "It is what he does. I will stop him. One day."

"I don't doubt that you will."

She smiled again. Nodded and moved towards the chair he opened his hand invitingly at, seating herself gracefully.

A particularly loud roar penetrated the walls and made everyone in the room wince. Particularly Phil.

"Are you _sure_ May will be all right…?" he asked uncertainly.

"Very much so. I know something of Drax's people; their mating rituals are – unusual, but there is no violence involved. Just a lot of noise."

Phil couldn't help a chuckle at that. "I'd never realised that humans could be soulmates with other species," he admitted.

"Had you not? Well, I suppose until recently there were few other species for you to interact with." Gamora sipped her drink. "I daresay Dr Foster and her Asgardian were the first?"

"That we know of," Phil agreed. "And now May and Drax."

"Doubtless there will be more." She looked briefly sad.

"What about your species – the Zehoberei? Are they able to…" he tried to think of another word than _interbreed_ "find their partners within other races?" Because if not, that meant that Gamora, as the last of her kind, was doomed to be alone forever. Which was a very sad thought.

"I do not know," she looked surprised. "We had never left our planet of origin before Thanos came. I am the only one of my people remaining. So I suppose if I find my soulmate, I will prove the theory."

"How does it work, for your people, do you get words as we normally do? I don't have any, not everyone does…"

"I know of your words, Jemma and Peter have told me of them. No, the Zehoberai have a mark much like a tattoo. It begins to fill with colour when we come into the presence of our destined mates." She unfastened her jacket, slipped it off and pointed to her bare arm. "See, here is mine, it is an outline of a beast Jemma has told me looks like a Chinese dragon _what the fuck is this_?"

Phil blinked as Gamora gasped and rubbed at her arm. He couldn't help but lean forward to look: the image did indeed look like a Chinese dragon, partly coloured in amazingly metallic red and gold. "How beautiful," he said, very impressed.

Her eyes flicked up to his, wide with shock. "There was not a scrap of colour in this before I came here!"

"Oh," instinctively Phil began to look around the room, wondering who could be Gamora's soulmate. But as he turned his head away, she grabbed his wrist, and with immense strength belied by her delicate frame, pulled his hand against her arm.

They both gasped as the colours began to fill in faster on Gamora's arm, and Phil felt a tingling begin in his palm. She didn't let go, though, not until the dragon was completely coloured in shimmering red and gold. And then she turned his palm over to reveal a metallic green and gold tattoo of a six-limbed animal he didn't at all recognise, but she smiled to see.

"Ohhh-kay," Phil said slowly, a little stunned. "Soooo – that just happened." And then something occurred to him. "Are there any mating rituals of _your_ people I should know about?" Considering just what happened with May and Drax. He tilted his head, considering Gamora's face. Her cheeks were definitely looking a darker green. Was she _blushing_?

"I – will need you to breed me. Soon. I – am already going into heat…"

"This is where I suddenly begin to hope that we're actually biologically compatible," Phil said in vague panic.

"We would not be soulmates otherwise, Phil, _please_…" there was sweat beading on her hairline, he realised, her breath coming quicker.

"Okay, okay, let's get out of here…" but as quickly as he was on his feet, she was quicker, her slim arms winding around his neck as she sought desperately for his mouth.

"What the _actual_ fuck? Is it something in the air in this place, Jemma?" Peter said from across the room, staring. "Because I have this _really_ strong urge to run away again."

**1000 words exactly.**

**Poor, poor Peter.**


	97. A Few Rough Edges (Jemma & Rhodey)

**A Few Rough Edges**

_Jemma/Rhodey_

BioMachine

**Theme song:**

**Van Halen – Mine All Mine**

Jemma was quite sure that she looked like a complete and utter wide-eyed idiot. Only. The _Avengers_. Were on. The Bus.

Iron Man had turned up rather fortuitously in the middle of a firefight that hadn't been going very well for SHIELD, ended it very abruptly with a lot of rockets, and then spotted Agent Coulson.

There was quite a lot of shouting, and then a modified quinjet turned up with a lot of angry Avengers on it, and then a lot MORE shouting, and now they were all standing on the Bus's ramp with still more shouting going on. Even Doctor Banner was joining in, though Jemma hoped he wasn't all THAT angry. She kept a close eye on him, and observed rather thankfully that May was watching him too, her arms folded not at all far away from her ICER gun.

There was a sudden whoosh of rockets behind them and they all whirled around. Except Tony Stark, who kept right on shouting and waving his arms, until he noticed all the SHIELD agents reacting by reaching for their weapons.

"It's just Rhodey. He's always late to the damn party. Even missed the invasion of New York. Which, incidentally, Agent, let's just get back to that…"

"I resent that remark, Tony," War Machine landed with a thump at the foot of the ramp. "If you'd actually let me know _before_ that damn portal opened that there was a problem…"

His armour was folding back even as Iron Man's had done, and Colonel James Rhodes stepped out, dressed in urban camouflage fatigue pants and a tight grey T-shirt that showed off an impressively broad chest. Jemma couldn't help an appreciative ogle. He caught her looking and gave her a wink, which made Jemma giggle and cover her mouth with her hand.

Amazingly, now that Rhodes was present he managed to somehow peacemake between the Avengers and Coulson – they all seemed to listen to him and respect his opinion, even Stark. Half an hour later they were all sitting in the lounge happily plotting the downfall of HYDRA. Jemma lurked in the corner, convinced someone would ask her to leave at any moment because she wasn't important enough, but Doctor Banner had started asking questions about her research which she was shyly answering.

A shadow loomed over her, and she looked up to see Colonel Rhodes, looking down at her with a grin on his handsome face.

"Now you're the lady I've been dying to get introduced to," he said flippantly.

Jemma's eyes flew very wide.

"Rhodey, this is Doctor Jemma Simmons," Bruce said cheerfully, "very clever lady."

"And a very beautiful one," Rhodey said gallantly, scooping her hand and kissing it. She was still staring at him wide-eyed.

_I need to say something._

_My tongue's gone numb._

_Oh dear._

Bruce looked from Jemma to Rhodey, got a sudden inkling of what might be happening, and subtly moved away down the couch, leaving space for Rhodey to sit down.

Left the opening to sit by the gorgeous scientist, Rhodey wasn't going to turn it down. She was probably a good few years younger than he was, but he hadn't missed the appreciative look she'd given him when he arrived. Nor the way she was staring at him now from wide hazel eyes. She licked soft pink lips he'd very much like to taste and opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

"Don't tell me you're shy, Doctor Simmons?" he said teasingly. "Not a girl as gorgeous as you are?"

_Deep breaths, Jemma. Deep breaths. Say something._

_Anything!_

"I'm not shy. Just a bit flabbergasted."

It was Rhodey's turn to lose his voice. He almost collapsed into the vacated seat and stared at her, stunned.

"You're not disappointed?" he said after a moment. He was, after all, over twenty years her senior…

"Disappointed!" Jemma almost shrieked. "My _soulmate_ is _War Machine_, how could I _possibly_ be _disappointed_?"

Of course she said it very loudly just as there was a lull in the general babble of conversation and every head turned to look at them.

"James Rhodes, you unreasonably lucky son of a gun," Stark said loudly.

"You know, this is a conversation that would probably go much better without an audience," Rhodey finally recovered enough to say, and Jemma nodded immediately, grabbing at his hand and standing with him, hurrying him past an open-mouthed Coulson and forward to a small row of private cubicles, slapping her palm on a panel to open a door.

"In here."

It was, in effect, a cupboard with a bed in it. Which Jemma realised as the door slid closed behind them and she looked up into Rhodey's dark eyes, only to see them widen, his lips parting as he looked at the bed and then back at her.

"Okay, that was probably an unwise decision," he muttered rather thickly, "putting both of us in the proximity of a bed."

Especially since he was broad-shouldered enough to take up most of the room's available space, Jemma realised.

On the other hand – well, he _was_ her soulmate. She moved closer, reaching up to put her hands on his shoulders. "Doesn't seem very unwise to me."

Any resolutions he might have been privately making about not rushing her flew straight out of his head. "Whatever you say," he agreed mindlessly, strong arms sliding around her slim waist.

Jemma smiled. "Well aren't you just charming."

"I try. I've probably got a few rough edges could stand to be smoothed off," he warned her. Rhodey had been a bachelor a long time, after all.

"Oh," her slim hand stroked down over the thick muscles swelling from the sleeves of his tight T-shirt, "I don't mind a _few_ rough edges." The way she looked up at him through her lashes made his mouth go dry. And then that slender hand curled around his neck and pulled, and he lowered his mouth to claim hers. To claim _her_. His Jemma.

**999 words.**

**I can't write Rhodey other than cute, I'm afraid. He's just such a sweet guy.**

**A new sequel has started posting! My friend and reviewer Kenna Wynters took on Clint/Skye (chapter 18), and she's a HUUUGGE Clint fan and writes him really well. I've seen up to chapter 10 and it's looking awesome so far! Get on over and check out **_**I Can Jump… No!**_** and please leave her a review!**


	98. May I Have This Dance (Peggy &Wolverine)

**May I Have This Dance?**

_Peggy Carter/Wolverine_

Agent Wolverine (or Loggy? Peggan? That one sounds FILTHY)

**Theme song:**

**Queen – Don't Stop Me Now**

**WARNING: Contains SPOILERS for Agent Carter S01Ep8. Since it takes place IMMEDIATELY after the scene near the end of the episode, when Peggy is standing on the Brooklyn Bridge. And in this timescale, Logan is using his original name, James Howlett, according to canon he doesn't take the name Logan until later. He also doesn't have his adamantium claws yet, obviously.**

"Goodbye, my darling," Peggy whispered, watching as the last drips of blood fell from the tube. She let the tube and lid fall too. Watched her tears drip down after it into the churning waters far, far below, until finally she had no more left to cry.

It was over. Time to start a new phase of her life. Without Steve. She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders.

"That was real maudlin; please tell me you're not gonna jump," a deep voice drawled behind her, and she spun with a gasp of shock; how had someone snuck up behind her without her hearing them? And someone who'd said the words on the soulmark that had wound like a snake about her right thigh since the day of her birth, too?

The man standing there had to be nearly as big as Steve had been: dark-haired and blue-eyed, he wore a simple workman's shirt, pants and boots. And yet there was something about him that said he wasn't ordinary at all. Peggy couldn't quite help but grope for the gun in her bag.

"Please don't, Miss Carter," he moved far quicker than he should, one large hand pressing down on hers.

"_How do you know my name?_" she spat at him. Unreasonably angered that _this_, this common-seeming creature, should _dare_ to possibly be her soulmate. And _now_, of all times, when she was still grieving for Steve… her eyes widened as he held something out to her. It was a picture of her. One she'd given to Steve, once. Not the one he kept in his compass – that one she believed had gone down in the Valkyrie – but another.

"You're pretty recognisable, Miss Carter," the man said with a laugh in his gravelly voice. "Though Rogers talked about you as though you were an angel come to earth, Barnes said you had a razor edge on your tongue. I'm thinkin' they might both have been right."

"You knew Steve – _and_ Bucky?" she gasped, her mouth falling open unflatteringly.

"Ran across them a time or two." He smiled, his craggy face transformed to sudden handsomeness. "Name's Howlett. James Howlett. I promised if I ever got back to the States I'd come and look you up. Steve said you were the kind of gal who'd get herself into trouble without someone to watch her back."

Of course Steve would have said that. _Someone to watch her back_, not _a man to look after her_. It made a small smile curve her mouth, and she remembered suddenly that she'd heard Howlett's name before. Not from Steve or Bucky, though, but from Dum Dum – or was it Gabe Jones?

James watched the beautiful dark-haired gal as she blinked at him, obviously thinking. Tears still stained her cheeks, and after a moment he fished in his pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief, offering it. She took it and dabbed daintily at her cheeks.

"You're my soulmate, you know," she said almost conversationally.

"Yeah. Seems like you're still grievin', though. Cap's a pretty tough act to follow."

"From what I've heard about you," Peggy said slowly, still recalling some of the wilder stories that Dum Dum – it _had_ been Dugan, she remembered now – had told about one James Howlett, "you might be the only man alive who would even try."

"Well, Miss Carter," it was a slow, challenging smile, "it'd sure be nice if you gave me the opportunity."

"I'll consider it." She tucked his handkerchief into her bag. "You'd better call me Peggy."

He offered his arm, and after a moment she placed her hand on it. "You lead the way, Peggy. I'm just along for the ride."

She cast him a sideways look from those pretty dark eyes. "Somehow I think you're going to be a back-seat driver."

"But of course I am. I'm your soulmate." He gave her a wink, and she had to fight down a chuckle.

"He's gorgeous, English," Angie whispered as they watched Howlett prowl around the residence, checking everything out. "Your soulmate? You are one _lucky_ gal. You got any brothers, mister?" she called out.

"One. But you don't want to meet him." Howlett stilled his pacing. "He's not very nice."

"Shame." Angie ogled him shamelessly until Peggy nudged her.

"Stop eyeing my soulmate like that!"

"Well _you_ don't want him. Honestly, English, you have all the luck, you work with that dreamboat Agent Thompson…"

Peggy fought down a retch.

"… and now you find a gorgeous soulmate and you won't even let him take you out to dinner…"

"Enough, Angie!" Suddenly, Peggy had a very wicked idea. "Why don't you come with us? We'll make it a double date."

"Oh yes, and who's my date going to be, Peg? They ain't exactly coming out of the woodwork for Angela Martinelli…"

"Agent Thompson asked after you, you know. Asked about your grandmother…"

"He did?" there were stars in Angie's eyes.

"Sure. And I happen to know he's a very good dancer."

James had to chuckle to himself as he watched Peggy manage her friends into falling in love over dinner. And then nudge Thompson into asking Angie to dance, to which the pretty young girl wasn't at all averse.

"They look good together," he told Peggy. She smiled slightly, her red lips curving. "May I have this dance, Peggy?"

She looked up at him as he stood, offered his hand. She hadn't danced, other than for duty, since that fateful night over a year ago when she'd told Steve she'd save him a dance.

Slowly, Peggy reached out and took her soulmate's hand. Let him pull her to her feet and lead her onto the dancefloor, powerfully muscled arms supporting her lightly.

"I'm not going to rush you, Peggy," he murmured quietly into her ear. "I can see you're still not ready. But I'll always be here. However long it takes. I'll always be waiting for you. And I'll always, _always_, have your back."

**998 words.**

**And the two of them would, of course, completely change everything in the MCU from that point onwards. But what the hell.**

**I'm not quite sure how Angie and Jack sneaked in here. I am planning an Angie/Jack and Peggy/Daniel fic soon, but… well, they ARE cute together.**

**Hope you enjoyed, and as always, I love to hear from you in the comments!**

**Exciting news too – not one but TWO new fics for you to check out…**

**Jennaloohoo has continued the Skye/Steve Short, so get on over and check out Trust Cap…**

**And LadyWinterlight was inspired by Skye/Colossus to write a new soulmates fic for the two of them, so you can go read I Wasn't Expecting This Today too!**


	99. You Called? (May & Loki)

**You Called?**

_May/Loki_

Mayki

**Theme song:**

**Whitesnake – Is This Love**

"Phil, I fail to see how you can be so calm!" May planted her hands on his desk and stared at him, wondering how their roles had suddenly reversed, why he was being calm and _she_ was reacting emotionally. "I understand your reasons for wanting to ally with the Avengers – they have access to resources we don't, and considering the number of superhumans we've had to face off against lately, the extra muscle will be more than handy – but they are working with _Loki_. Who, in case you have forgotten, _murdered you_."

"He was under compulsion!"

"He didn't have direct orders to kill you!"

"He didn't know me and I was pointing a bloody great big gun at him!"

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Phil smiled crookedly. "Thank you for your outrage on my behalf, May, truly. But I've put it behind me. I met Loki when I went to the initial meeting, and he apologised. Genuinely."

"God of lies," May muttered grimly.

"_Enough_. Whatever you may think of him, it's my decision and I expect your support."

She managed one curt nod before slamming out of his office and going to the gym for a tai chi session to try to control her rage. Phil was her best friend. He'd been _murdered_ and his killer was running around _unpunished_ pretending to be a hero. It was so not all right with Melinda May that she wrapped her hands and took to the punching bag, imagining every hit connecting with Loki's smirking face.

She wasn't any less angry when she finally met the Trickster. It was just one more point of annoyance that he was stupidly tall, a good foot taller than she was, and irritatingly good-looking, piercing green eyes in his thin, intelligent face seeming to look right into her. Her fist itched to punch off the faint smile that hovered around his thin lips.

Loki offered a hand, and the petite woman Coulson had introduced as Agent May gave it a disdainful stare, making no move to take it. _Another one who cannot forgive_, he thought a little sadly, and merely inclined his head to her. _Well, Father never said that earning my redemption would be easy. _

Several months later, May had to admit to a grudging respect for Loki. He was certainly a hell of a fighter, and rather like herself he never flinched from the dirty work, though she suspected he enjoyed it no more than she did. She didn't trust him – but then, she didn't trust anyone – but there were few people she'd rather have at her back when the chips were down.

Especially since he could teleport. She rather wished he was here right now, as she faced down the circle of armed men around her. They knew who she was, were keeping their distance so she couldn't get in close and grapple.

"Shoot her," Grant Ward ordered, and fingers tightened on triggers.

_Gonna die, might as well_… May opened her mouth. "LOKI, HELP ME!"

Jane and Darcy had both said something about Thor and Loki being able to hear when their names were invoked, if they were close enough emotionally to the person calling for them. She and Loki weren't exactly friends, but she prayed there was enough mutual respect…

There was a sudden _pop_ and a green cloak swirling around her, and then another _pop_ and they were somewhere entirely different. No gunmen in sight.

"You called, Melinda May?" Loki murmured.

She was shaken enough to let her forehead fall against his leather-armoured chest for a moment. "Thank you," she muttered.

"My ears deceive me!"

"Oh, don't ruin it now by being an asshole," she couldn't help a grin. "You saved my life. Thank you." She looked up into his green eyes and was somewhat surprised by the expression she caught on his face before he smoothed it quickly away. It looked almost like – _tenderness_?

She was the one who had finally made him understand what Thor saw in Midgardians. Until her, he'd really considered them as little more than fairly intelligent sheep. But this one, this tiny fierce lady with the heart of a dragon – she had captivated him for many long moons now, his nights filled with dreams of her. Despite the fact that she still hated him.

When she'd called for him – and _of course_ he'd heard her, he'd been wishing so long to hear his name from her lips that he'd thought for a moment he must have imagined it – he'd almost died of terror when he realised _why_. He would go now and destroy those who had thought to kill her, destroy them so utterly that there would be not even ashes remaining, the only punishment which would quench his thirst for vengeance against those who would _dare_ harm her. Loki made to step back, to leave her here where she would be safe, in his quarters at Avengers Tower which was the first place he had thought to take her – and found that her arms were still locked tightly about his waist.

"Lady Melinda, you must let go," he murmured quietly.

"I don't think I want to," she replied.

His eyes widened. Slowly, he lifted a hand, caressed it over her hair, as black as his own. Gazed into her midnight eyes. He was so much taller than her that he would _have_ to make the first move, and he hesitated.

"Just kiss me, Loki," May said firmly, and a grin curved his mouth before he bent his head.

They both gasped as stinging heat flared, pulled back and stared wide-eyed at the runes forming on the other's lips.

May knew what it meant. She'd seen the runes on Thor's arm and Jane Foster's hand. "My soulmate?" she said wonderingly.

"Aye, and you are mine," Loki smiled down at her, awed. "So long have I searched," he whispered softly, "only to find you at last, my heart."

**999 words.**

**Badassery and pranks on an EPIC scale, methinks, with these two together.**

**For the Guest on Fanfiction dot net who asked if I could post links to other stories, unfortunately not. The site doesn't allow it. However, you can use the Search by Author function to look for the two authors mentioned (this is why I am careful to put usernames in) and you should find them easily enough.**

**Alternatively, you can read my work on Ao3 (archive of our own dot org, I go by the same username there) and links are posted all over the place, including to some stories which aren't on fanfiction – storieaddict's Skye/Von Doom continuation specifically. Along with entertainingly bad Photoshopped pictures of the characters in each pairing/grouping.**


	100. Out Of My League (Clint & Sif)

**Out Of My League**

_Clint/Sif_

WarHawk (that's SO COOL)

**Theme song:**

**Tal Bachman – She's So High**

**Before anyone gets excited, this is not actually the 100****th**** Soulmate Short. Chapter 1 was the Intro/Index, and the Fitz/Rogue story took up 2 chapters. So the 100****th**** pairing is actually Chapter 102… and yes, I have something special in mind. Something that some of you have been waiting for VERY PATIENTLY. Two more days, hang in there…**

"It's your turn to go to Asgard with Thor."

"Don't wanna."

"God, Barton, you're so childish. Come down out of that vent and get your ass up to the roof." Tony put his hands on his hips and glared at the ceiling.

"You all hate Asgard. They make Nat wear dresses. You and Bruce are completely confused by the technology. And they keep trying to give Steve a sword to go with his shield. I just don't want to go."

"They'll like you, you're a medieval weapons specialist," Tony wheedled. "Thor said you can take your bow."

"Fuck off."

"Don't make me send Romanoff up there after you."

There was a low growl, and then after a minute or so Clint dropped down through the vent and gave Tony a nasty look. "That was playing dirty."

"I find it rather amusing how we all threaten each other with Natasha every time we need a legitimate threat," Tony mused thoughtfully as he accompanied Clint up to the roof in the elevator. "Is there a threat that Natasha respects?"

"No."

"Shame." They emerged on the roof to find Thor already waiting for them, his red cape swirling in the wind.

"My friends!" he boomed happily. "Ah, Clinton, you are indeed to accompany me this day!"

Clint couldn't help but grin. He did actually thoroughly like Thor, far more than any of the other Avengers except Nat, really. Maybe Asgard wouldn't be all _that_ bad.

_Ugh, the Bifrost was pretty awful, though_… it was a good thing his balance was so perfect, or he might have landed flat on his face. As it was he regained his equilibrium almost instantly and looked up to see a huge dude in golden armour and a smokin' hot babe.

Clint's eyes widened, the better to ogle her with. Damn, she really was all kinds of gorgeous; nearly as tall as he was with thick black hair cascading around her shoulders, silvery grey eyes in a pale, fine-boned face. She was wearing silver armour and had the hilt of a big-ass sword sticking up above her shoulder, and from the last he suddenly realised who she was. This must be the Lady Sif, one of Thor's closest friends and a legend in her own right. Also the only person who Nat had liked on Asgard.

She was so beautiful he couldn't quite resist flirting, though, so as Thor greeted Heimdall Clint stepped forward and delivered a flourishing bow – he was rather proud of it, actually, he hadn't done one like that since his circus days – and declaimed;

"Since you are evidently the most beautiful woman in either Realm, I conclude that I have the honour of addressing the Lady Sif?"

Sif chuckled, amused by the archer's flattery and grandiose gesture. Thor had spoken well of this Clinton of Barton, praising his courage and skill. He hadn't mentioned what an attractive man the Midgardian was, though, and nor had Lady Natasha on her visit, despite the fact that Sif knew the two thought of each other as brother and sister.

Blue-grey eyes gleamed at her as he straightened up, and then he turned away as Thor spoke to introduce him to Heimdall. Sif's eyes lingered on his biceps, thickly muscled and bared by the sleeveless design of his strange black armour. An attractive man indeed.

_I'm so far out of my league I'm not even on the same planet_, Clint thought to himself with a grin, but he still couldn't resist asking Sif for a dance at the banquet that evening. She was even more beautiful tonight in a flowing, silver gown, silver combs pinning her dark hair back from her face. The dance steps looked easy enough he was confident he wouldn't make a fool of himself, anyway.

Sif looked surprised. It was rare that she was asked to dance by a man she could respect. Most Asgardians thought of her as 'one of the guys' and those who did not – well, those she did not respect. She knew what other women said of her too, saw the jealous glares as the handsome archer bowed before her and requested the honour of a dance. For a moment she considered refusing – but it had been a long time since she danced, and she did enjoy it.

"I'd love to," she said, surprising herself with how much she meant it, and she reached out and slipped her hand into Clint's.

Both warriors, they did not cry out with the pain. Their fingers only tightened around each other's for a moment, and then Clint let go and turned his hand over, staring at his palm in astonishment.

He knew what the symbols appearing there, etched in silver and black, meant. He'd seen the ones on Thor's arm and Jane Foster's hand. Born without words, he'd resigned himself that they weren't coming when he reached the age of thirty, realised he was doomed to be forever alone. But now…

"_You_?" he said wonderingly, looking at Sif, who'd risen to her feet and stood staring at her own hand, now marked with black and purple runes. "But – I'm not…"

"You _are_. Whatever it is that you think you are not, you are wrong," she reached out, took his hand again and pressed their marks together. They both let out a small sigh of pleasure as the bond began to strengthen, winding tightly into place between them.

Clint hesitated. "Shall we have that dance now?"

Sif's lips curled into a mischievous grin. "I was thinking perhaps we could retire to my quarters and try out a different kind of dancing?"

Clint's eyes flew wide. "Oh, I am _very_ far from being averse to that idea," he breathed as she tugged on his hand, and followed her more than willingly from the crowded hall.

**970 words.**


	101. I Want Those Wings (May & Sam Wilson)

**I Want Those Wings**

_May/Sam Wilson_

Saminda?

**Theme song:**

**Idina Menzel – Defying Gravity (**_**Wicked**_** soundtrack)**

Since she was a little girl, she'd always dreamed of flying. Quite literally. The dreams had started the night her soulmark came, she'd been seven years old, and that night she dreamed of soaring like an eagle, the sky her domain.

From that day forward, she'd saved every cent to put towards flying lessons. Spent her free time lurking around the local light aircraft community learning everything she could about aeroplanes. Of course with a mother in the CIA she was always headed for intelligence or the military, so when SHIELD came calling she jumped at the offer. The best of both worlds, she thought.

It didn't turn out so well for her, of course. Bahrain almost destroyed her physically and emotionally, and afterwards for a while she didn't even _want_ to fly. The dreams never left, though, and when Coulson came and told her he needed a pilot – well, she'd buried herself behind a desk for long enough.

One thing led to another and soon she was a lot more than just a pilot, of course. But at least working for Coulson and New SHIELD she had more say in the decisions. More chances to fly, too, both in quinjets and the Bus.

But she still dreamed of flying without a plane. Of the wind in her face as she soared.

She saw footage of the Falcon once he started working with the Avengers, shaky phone footage for the most part but the occasional scrap caught by professional news crews, and always stared lustfully, because _those wings_. She _wanted_ those wings. The EXO-7, they were apparently called, some defunct Air Force program. She even reached out to Talbot and was told there weren't any more. Even Falcon's last EXO-7 had actually been destroyed in the fight at the Triskelion, what he was using now was some new, improved Stark version.

So when they ran across the Avengers in the middle of a fight and the Falcon landed right in front of her, shooting down the HYDRA agents trying to kill her before turning to her with a charming grin, the first thing she said was;

"I want those wings."

Sam tried not to get too excited – she wasn't the first person to say that to him, _Barton_ had even said it when they first met, which had given him a few nervous moments, because Sam really would _prefer_ a woman for his soulmate – but _oh God, PLEASE_ _let her be the one_, because she was not only beautiful but totally badass. She'd been thoroughly kicking ass even before he crashed her party.

He took a deep breath and said the words he'd long planned in response to his soulmark words. "The wings and me, we're kind of a package deal."

Dark eyes flew wide, her lips parted, and then she was crossing the small distance between them with swift strides, unzipping her jacket and pulling up the stretchy black top she wore underneath to show a flat, toned stomach and his sprawling scribble across it. "You?"

"That's me," he confirmed, feeling an uncontrollable grin beginning to spread across his face. "Sam Wilson – former pararescue, now counsellor to superheroes and attempting to keep up."

"Melinda May. I'm…" she paused and thought about it. "I'm New SHIELD. Really SHIELD, definitely not HYDRA…" she let go of her top, rezipped her jacket, fiddled with the zip in an uncharacteristically nervous movement. Hoping he'd believe her.

"Hill's told me about your crew," Sam reassured. "I know who you are. But the question I have to ask you, Melinda May, is how much do you like flying?" he took another small step, closing the last little distance between them, looking down at her. She had to be about eight or ten inches shorter than his height, and delicate-looking – which she most definitely was not, considering how many of the downed bodies around them were her handiwork.

May's lips parted, she ran her tongue across them slowly. "I _dream_ of flying. Every night."

"Me too," Sam said, surprised, "every night since I can remember." He grinned, slid one arm around her waist holding a harness strap, clipped it into a D-ring on the other side of his belt and cinched it tight. "Hang on, sweetheart. I'll get Stark to make you your own, but for right now we'll have to share – and it's time to get out of here." The heads-up display in his flight goggles was alerting him to more incoming trouble.

She twined her hands in the straps across his chest, smiled up at him. "Take me to the sky, flyboy. Let's go soar with the eagles."

Sam had to suppress the urge to kiss her quite viciously, but could tell from the look in her eyes and the way she smiled that she knew what he was thinking. Gritting his teeth, he looked up and sent them rocketing up into the sky.

She was laughing for joy, turning her head against his chest to see where they were going even though the wind whipped tears from her eyes. This. _This_ was what she had dreamed of for so long.

Oh. And the fact that her soulmate was tall, handsome and heroic? Bonus.

**871 words.**

**Because May loves to fly. You can always see it in her face when someone goes to find her in the cockpit. She LOVES to fly. And for someone who loved to fly, I don't think there could be any higher desire than to have their own wings… or possibly to share Sam Wilson's ;)**


	102. But You're Gorgeous! (Fitz & Wanda)

**But You're Gorgeous!**

_Fitz/Wanda_

Scarlet Engineer

**Theme song:**

**Lifehouse – You And Me**

**So…. Finally, the one you've been waiting for! (Well, some of you.) This is the sequel to Chapter 32, The Engineering Bros, the rather poignant little Short where Fitz and Tony Stark discovered that they were platonic soulmates, and Fitz ended up pouring out his heartbreak over Jemma (who was paired with Sam Wilson in Ch 28) to Tony and Pepper, who vowed they'd find his soulmate for him.**

**It's a FTWL (Fuck The Word Limit) fic. I hope you enjoy. This one was due a couple of days ago, but I decided to save it for the 100****th**** Soulmate Shorts pairing ;)**

"Pepper, I've tried everything," Tony said glumly, looking up from his tablet. "JARVIS and I have searched every soulmark database, legit _and_ shady. Scanned over a billion handwriting samples looking for a match to the writing on Fitz's foot. And, whoever she is – assuming it's a she, and since Fitz is pretty sure he's straight…"

"Yes, Tony, I understand," Pepper tried to soothe him. It had been six months since Tony had convinced Fitz to come and live in the Tower with them. Jemma had stayed with SHIELD and Sam was effectively spending most of his time with them, so Fitz wasn't confronted with the cause of his heartbreak every day. He was no longer wearing his emotions so openly on the surface.

That didn't mean that he wasn't an open book to Tony and Pepper, though. He was still hurting. Still lonely and afraid that he might not meet his soulmate until he was old and grey. He'd been born with the mark, so they knew his soulmate was older than him – but not her date of birth.

Tony had thrown himself into the search with his usual enthusiasm. Devoted an entire sixteen percent of JARVIS's processing power to it. Hacked his way into more databases than Pepper had previously imagined might _exist_.

And… nothing.

Whoever she (or he, Tony hadn't excluded any possibilities) was, they weren't working for the government, law enforcement, or any number of other industries that required soulmarks to be scanned and registered. Around the globe. Nor had they graduated college or high school in the US, or any other country that scanned students' papers for grading.

Which seemed wrong, to Pepper. Fitz was so _smart_ – how could his soulmate possibly be a high school dropout?

She'd concentrated _her_ search on women without registered soulmarks, once they'd determined that nobody on the planet had a registered mark that matched Fitz's (fortunately quite distinctive) writing. There'd been a few quiet introductions – and false alarms – along the way, of course, because handwriting analysis wasn't an exact science. Or it hadn't been, until Tony and JARVIS started in on it.

Pepper thought – she _hoped_ – that Fitz hadn't suspected anything. Fortunately, Stark Industries did host lots of major events, and Fitz, as Deputy Director of R&D now – that was his official title, anyway – was naturally invited to many of them. And naturally met a lot of people. That some of them were women Pepper carefully steered in his direction was something she didn't want him to know.

After all, she reasoned, sometimes people fell in love without being soulmates. Look at Clint and Natasha. Clint had no mark and the Red Room had forced Natasha to kill her soulmate when she was just a girl. The two of them had _chosen_ each other, and were happier, and closer, than many soulmated pairs Pepper knew.

But Fitz even seemed to be oblivious to flirting – and some of the women Pepper had introduced to him had definitely been interested. Fitz was a catch, after all, brilliant, well-employed and not at all hard on the eyes. His soulmate would probably have to virtually smack him round the head with a baseball bat to get his attention, Pepper thought to herself, and laughed internally at the mental image of a pretty girl chasing Fitz around the Tower's labs with a caveman club in hand.

"What are you smiling about?" Tony set his tablet aside and leaned against her. She smiled wider and slipped a hand to the back of his neck.

"I'm thinking that it's time for us to stop worrying about Fitz for the night and retire to our own bed."

"Mmm, I am liking the way you're thinking, Pep," Tony grinned. He was just leaning in for a kiss when the Assemble alarm went off.

"Oh what the _fuck_ the goddamn _timing_!" Tony cursed, even as a panel in the wall slid open to reveal his newest suit.

"Go," Pepper said, amused. "I'll be here when you get back."

"Hopefully in bed wearing nothing but that smile?" he snatched a kiss as his suit started to fit around him. She stepped back, laughing, watching as he zoomed out into the night. The quinjet took off a moment later. Hill must be flying it, probably carrying Bruce and Natasha. They were the only Avengers in the Tower.

"What's happening, JARVIS?" Pepper asked quietly as she watched the glowing rocket exhausts disappear into the darkness.

"Former Director Fury notified Mr Rogers and Mr Wilson that he had a strong lead on a possible location for Mr Barnes. It is a large HYDRA facility in Austria. After conducting reconnaissance, Mr Rogers concluded that it would be wise to call for backup."

"What, Steve didn't just dive in and start bashing? Sam really is a good influence." Pepper smiled. "Is Fitz busy, JARVIS? Come to think of it, has he eaten dinner?"

"He is in his lab, ma'am, and no he has not."

"Then I shall have to fix that." Tony was clearly going to be a while.

She was a little concerned that it took them two days to get back, but when they all – even Tony – stumbled out of the quinjet looking frazzled and somewhat singed, she had to bite her lips to keep from screaming. Her eyes widened with shock as she saw Clint – he'd been gone for months on some secret undercover mission – come out with his arm wrapped tightly around Natasha's shoulders. Both spysassins gave her tired smiles before heading down into the Tower.

Steve was next, supporting a very wrecked-looking Winter Soldier. Pepper took a slightly nervous step back, but the smile on Steve's face convinced her there was nothing to worry about. Probably.

And then Bruce helped a thin young man in a torn grey sweater wheel a stretcher out of the jet, and for a horrible moment Pepper thought it was Tony on the stretcher, as she saw a flash of dark hair. But no, it was _long_ hair, and there was Tony walking out of the jet behind them. She ran to him in relief, hugging him tightly.

"But who got hurt?" she turned back towards the stretcher.

"Girl. Her name's Wanda. She and her brother Pietro were being held at the facility – experimented on," Tony shuddered. "They've both got superpowers. He's superfast and she can move shit around with her mind."

Pepper opened her mouth to start asking questions, and then with another look at Tony decided they could wait. He was nearly asleep on his feet from the look of him, and filthy. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up and you can tell me all about it later."

Fitz was working on a new bit of tech when JARVIS quietly alerted him that the Avengers had returned.

"Tony's all right?" Fitz checked first.

"Sir is fine, although he appears weary. Ms. Potts is taking care of him."

"Good. Everyone else?"

"The Avengers are all unhurt. They have, however, brought three other persons with them, at least one of whom is currently incapacitated."

"Huh," Fitz took off the magnifying goggles he was wearing. Jemma wasn't at the Tower at the moment, he realised. "Does Bruce need an extra pair of hands in the medical centre?"

"I'm sure your help would be appreciated, Fitz." It had taken several weeks of arguing and in the end a direct order from Tony, but JARVIS had finally been convinced to just call him Fitz. The AI treated him like a little brother who regularly needed his nose wiped, but Fitz found he didn't mind.

Fitz headed down to the medical centre. He'd picked up enough from so many years working with Jemma – the thought of her still caused a distant throb of pain in his chest – that he wasn't a bad field medic himself. And while Bruce handled most of the work, he might be pretty tired himself, if Tony was as wrecked as JARVIS had seemed to imply.

Fitz walked in to utter chaos. Or it looked like chaos at first glance, but that was probably only because Bruce was looking frazzled as he tried to manage three patients at once – and a frazzled Bruce was never a good thing.

Steve seemed to have the Winter Soldier – _fuck, they found him_ – reasonably in hand, even if Barnes was looking around with wide scared eyes and taking deep breaths to steady himself. The medical facility was obviously triggering some nasty memories, but Steve was sitting on the end of the bed talking to him and Barnes was listening. Those two would be all right, for now.

Sam was standing by another bed trying to convince a white-haired guy who looked to be about Fitz's age, to sit down and submit to Bruce's examination. The guy was literally hopping from foot to foot with anxiety but moving so fast his feet were a blur.

Fitz shook his head and looked at the last bed. There was a young woman lying there, awake but exhausted-looking and very pale. She was just lying quietly and watching the white-haired guy having his anxiety attack, so Fitz thought he might go over there and check on her.

"Hi," he said, with a welcoming smile. "I'm Fitz. I'm not a doctor but I have some medical training, so I might be able to help if you don't feel well."

The girl looked up at him from magnificent dark eyes. She was, he suddenly realised, quite stunningly beautiful, with long silky dark hair, those _eyes_, lovely soft pale skin and full rosebud lips.

"Hello," Wanda said softly, shyly. _Her soulmate. Well._ She really hadn't expected that, when she'd agreed to go with the Avengers. And he looked like such a _nice_ young man, with a cheerful, open face, tightly curled hair she itched to run her fingers into, and lovely kind blue eyes. His low voice had a warm Scottish brogue that made her just want to beg him to talk to her again. "It's nice to meet you."

Fitz's eyes widened. And then he just as obviously dismissed the thought. Wanda weakly pushed herself to a sitting position and reached towards his hand. "I've been hoping for so long to meet my soulmate."

"What?" his blue eyes widened. "_You_ – you really _are_? But you're _gorgeous_!"

"Well. So are you." She gave him a direct look even though she was sure her cheeks were colouring up.

"Oh. You. What?" Fitz completely lost the ability to speak coherently, as Wanda slipped her small hand into his. _Too thin_, his brain supplied, and he looked down at her pale, slender fingers. "I don't even know your name," he managed to say a bit pathetically after a few moments. Staring at her hand instead of her face helped him clear his head a little, even though the touch of her skin on his was sending all kinds of strange impulses jangling along his nerves.

"Oh – it's Wanda. Wanda Maximoff. That's my twin brother Pietro," she nodded at the white-haired man, who Bruce and Sam had finally convinced to sit down and take his shirt off to Bruce could check him over. "We've been held prisoner by HYDRA."

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," Fitz's eyes flew back to hers, horrified. "You poor things."

Wanda's smile was weary. She patted the bed beside her and he sat instinctively. She leaned her head against his shoulder. "We'll be fine now," she whispered softly. "Everything's going to be fine now that I have you."

The look she gave him, peeping up through her lashes, made him feel taller than Thor. "Lie down and rest," he said quietly, daring to stroke her silky dark hair. "I'm here. I'm going to take care of you now, my lass."

Wanda lay down, pressed her cheek against Fitz's thigh as he sat beside her. "Please don't leave me," she whispered quietly.

"I swear I never will."

**1990 words.**

**I hope you enjoyed it and it fulfilled the hopes of everyone whose hearts broke for Fitz after I wrote The Engineering Bros! The Wanda I've written here is probably quite a lot sweeter than canon-Wanda, but hey. It's my AU. She'll be what I want her to be. And I think if she'd just been rescued from a HYDRA torture-lab, she'd be grateful to find someone as gentle and kind as Fitz.**

**Wonderful news too: the hysterically funny pretzel-log1c has continued the Darcy/Deadpool Short! Sadly it's available on Ao3 only but please go check out **_**One Too Many Shocks**_**, it's well worth the read. Only don't eat or drink while you're reading. Spit-takes are highly likely to ensue.**

**And I would very much love to hear, since I have reached this milestone of 100 pairings (groupings) O_O! which was your favourite Short so far. Or your top 5. Or which of the continuations you've most enjoyed/are enjoying – not just mine, either, but those written by the other great folks who've continued these!**

**Go crazy and tell me what you really think! Please! And feel free to tell me which ones you'd most like to see continued – there are one or two people out there who've said "well, I'll have a go – which one would you like me to try?" And if YOU'D like to try – check the Index in chapter 1 to see if anyone already did the one you've got your eye on, and then get in touch… I would be more than happy if someone wanted to use one of my 'starters' to get back into the writing groove after having been flamed off their game, for example ;)**


	103. You Can Come Out Now (Clint & Bobbi)

**You Can Come Out Now**

_Clint/Bobbi Morse_

Mockinghawk

**Theme song:**

**David Guetta – Love Don't Let Me Go**

**So… Mockinghawk is comic canon. But I write **_**in the MCU**_**, occasionally stealing comic characters for entertainment and plot purposes ;). So this is the MCU version, they've never met before, and since I'm not a comic reader I have no idea how their relationship is portrayed there. I'm coming at this considering the on-screen characters only.**

**And because I really do ship Hunter and Bobbi, it would make me sad to give Bobbi a soulmate and not Hunter. Consequently – this is a sequel to the long-ago **_**Get Down!**_** (ch 4) featuring Hunter and Darcy.**

Clint was doing his best to have a nice sleep in his favourite air vent above a rarely-used visitor's lounge in the Tower's residential levels when the argument erupted below him. He squeezed his eyes tighter shut in irritation and debated shouting at the culprits, but they'd probably finish soon enough. He didn't know the woman's voice, but the guy was the Brit who'd tagged along with Foster and Lewis when Thor brought them back from England. Hunter, he thought the guy's name was. Lewis's soulmate, seemed a decent enough bloke.

Although possibly not, considering the argument going on beneath him…

"Hunter, enough," Bobbi said finally. "Look, it was over between us even before you met Darcy. We both knew that even if we never admitted it out loud. I'm not pining away for love of you, you vain idiot. She's your soulmate, and we've both seen instances of people trying to break those bonds. It rarely ends well for anyone concerned."

"I'm _not_ trying to break the bond, I'm just saying that I'd never want to hurt you, Bob," Hunter said in irritation. "Darcy understands that I cared – still _do_ care – about you. She says she's willing for me to come back and work with you and SHIELD if that's what the agency needs. She's willing to trust me."

"It's _not_ necessary. And it'd create friction between the two of you, come _on_, Hunter. Darcy can't seriously want you working with your ex-wife. She said that because she wants you to blow me off and choose _her_."

"She… does?"

"God, you're such a fucking idiot," Bobbi sighed affectionately. "_Yes_, Hunter. She wants you to choose her, and she wants you to be clear and probably public about it. Don't you dare fuck things up with that girl because you're worried about _my_ feelings. She's the best thing that ever happened to you."

"I know."

"Then why are you still here talking to me?"

Hunter laughed, kissed Bobbi's cheek and left. She flopped onto the couch in the small lounge where they'd been arguing and cast her eyes up at the ceiling.

After a moment she said "You can come out now."

Clint nearly fell through the vent from shock. "How the _hell_ did you know I was here?" he gasped, dropping down to land agilely before her.

Bobbi blinked as the solidly muscled man landed lightly in front of her – and said her soulmark words. Blond-haired, dressed in a pale grey sleeveless shirt that showed spectacularly muscled arms and old, faded blue jeans that clung lovingly to strong thighs, he was about her height – and utterly gorgeous.

"_How did you know I was here_?" he repeated.

"I heard you breathing, once Hunter had gone – oh my God, you're _Hawkeye_," she gasped.

"And apparently you're Bat-ears."

Clint cracked the joke to cover up his shock. Because she was easily the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, long-legged and lithe, sprawled casually across the couch in black leather pants so tight they looked as though they were painted on and a tight black T-shirt. Dark blonde hair tumbled around a stunning face, and ocean-blue eyes examined him curiously.

She smiled. "Actually, they call me Mockingbird." Long-fingered hands gathered the hem of her T-shirt, edged it up to reveal a smooth, flat stomach. With his messy, dyslexic squiggles across it. "I don't suppose this looks familiar?"

"Unh," his brain was scrambled by all that smooth golden skin. "The writing, yeah. The gorgeous woman, not so much."

A smile curved that gorgeous, kissable mouth, and then she was getting up off the couch in a ripple of sinuous movement that completely fried any remaining brain cells Clint might have had left. He just stood there and _stared_.

He was watching her from intent blue-grey eyes, his laser focus a little unnerving – and incredibly arousing, entirely focussed on her as he was. Bobbi found herself shivering a little as she moved closer, lifting her hand to touch his chest, looking directly into his eyes as she murmured;

"So where's yours?"

"Hmm?" he blinked at her. "Oh. Mark. My mark." His hands went to his waist and then he was peeling his T-shirt off, showing her neatly printed words in a short line just above his right nipple. _You can come out now._

"Yes," Bobbi murmured, a little overwhelmed that _Hawkeye_ should be her soulmate. One of the _Avengers_. _Her_ soulmate.

_I mean, I know I'm badass, but that's a whole 'nother level._

Strong hands lifted a little hesitantly to her waist, and she realised, suddenly, looking into his eyes, that he was just as nervous as she was. Just as off balance. She smiled at him encouragingly, even though her heart was beating fast enough she thought for sure he must be able to hear its pounding.

"I don't even know your name. Mockingbird," Clint murmured softly. She was so close he could actually feel her sweet breath on his lips, but he wasn't going to kiss his soulmate until he knew her name. "Hunter called you Bob?"

"Asshole does that. It's Barbara, Barbara Morse – but please call me Bobbi."

"I'm Clint…"

"I know who you are." Her long-fingered hands landed on his chest, and he could feel the calluses there. She handled guns and – swords? Something like that. He tightened his grip, curving his hands further around her slim waist.

"You're really fucking gorgeous, Bobbi," he muttered thickly.

"Snap," she whispered back, leaning in closer, her fingers sliding up over his shoulders, testing the resilience of the powerful muscles. Exploring his scars, mapping them with tender care.

"I'm gonna kiss you now."

"Good," she smiled against his lips, felt his returning smile before the intensity of the kiss drove away all rational thought.

**960 words.**

**Oh God, they really would be so hot and badass together. And we might possibly see them as a pair in the MCU yet.**

**I'm going to admit that I do hope not, though. Because I really love Hunter with Bobbi. And I always say that I don't have an OTP because I'll ship anyone with anyone – but if I **_**did**_**, it would be Clintasha. They're a default pairing in many of my fics focussing on other characters because they seem so natural together.**

**That said, there **_**are**_** rumours that Hawkeye **_**might**_** be making an appearance in Agents of SHIELD. Which would be JUST FREAKING AWESOME. And if he exchanges so much as one flirty glance or remark with Jemma – or even if Jemma just has a worshipful stare at his muscles – I will just collapse in a puddle of BioHawk fangirl squee and probably write another 100,000 word epic along the lines of **_**Truth In A Bottle**_**.**

**So, you're all praying along with me for that to happen, right? ;)**


	104. You Can See Forever (May & Heimdall)

**You Can See Forever**

_May/Heimdall_

Maydall?

**Theme song:**

**Pink Floyd – Shine On You Crazy Diamond**

**This one is the last in the series which fits into the Loki/Jemma and Skye/Fandral AU, detailed in the sequel by Kathryn Claire O'Connor and myself, **_**What Right Have You**_**. However, it reads perfectly fine as a stand-alone.**

Whenever May visited Asgard, she always found herself lingering in the Bifrost chamber, looking out at the cosmos. Once or twice she'd turned from her contemplation to find Heimdall watching her. He usually inclined his head with a slight smile before looking away, and she always courteously returned the smile.

She was somewhat surprised, at the royal wedding, to find Heimdall standing at her side as she watched the dancing.

"Lady Melinda," he rumbled quietly in greeting.

"Milord." She gave him a friendly smile, but said nothing else.

They stood in silence together for a long moment, and then Heimdall cleared his throat and spoke again. "Lady Melinda, it has come to my notice that you enjoy viewing the cosmos when you pass through the Bifrost chamber. You are welcome to visit there whenever you wish, not merely when you are to traverse the bridge."

Surprised, she turned to look up at him. "I am?" She'd had the impression that no-one went to the Bifrost chamber except to travel.

"Indeed." Gold eyes gleamed down at her briefly before he looked away. "Your company would be welcomed."

"Oh. Well – thank you. I may take you up on the offer. It's very beautiful in the chamber. So very peaceful."

"Yes. I know that you like to fly your aeroplanes. Perhaps when you look out at the sky, it is a similar feeling?"

"Yes, but not as _intense_," May tried to explain. "Looking from the Bifrost chamber – you can see _forever_."

Heimdall nodded slowly. "Indeed. Perhaps you have the makings of a Guardian, Lady Melinda."

She blinked. He made her a slight bow and was gone, moving incredibly gracefully and easily through the crowded hall for such a big man. For the first time she realised he wasn't wearing his golden armour, but a simply cut – if beautifully made – dark brown tunic and leather pants which really did awesome things for his long, muscular body. She couldn't quite resist tilting her head for a long look at his ass as he walked away. "Love to watch you go," she murmured laughingly under her breath.

The Valkyrie chaperoning her nearly choked on her cup of ale.

The Midgardian guests were staying a few extra days after the wedding, except Fitz and Darcy, who were heading back to Earth. May decided to accompany them to the Bifrost chamber, even though she wasn't travelling. She watched as Heimdall used his sword to activate the mechanism and Fitz and Darcy were whirled away in a blaze of rainbow lights.

"How amazing," she murmured softly as the bridge blinked out.

"In all these years, I have never wearied of the Bifrost's beauty," Heimdall agreed, and she found herself smiling up at him as he gestured towards the observation window.

"You see this differently to me, don't you?" May asked impulsively as he joined her. "Your eyes…"

"Were once as yours are. Guardians are made, not born." He hesitated, and then spoke again. "When I was young, I was drawn to come here, I knew not why. I only knew that the only place I felt at peace was right here. Looking out at the universe."

May's jaw dropped.

"Very few find that peace here. For almost all, it is too much to take. They feel intimidated, their fragile egos crushed by the certain realisation of how insignificant a mote of dust they are in relation to the universe. Fewer still are able to look again and again, are drawn to return and gaze forth into infinity."

He hadn't looked at her while he was speaking. He did so now, saw her wide eyes and parted lips. "Your eyes are already beginning to develop tiny flecks of gold, Lady Melinda," Heimdall told her gently.

He'd seen them when she arrived on Asgard this last time; resolved that he would find a way to speak to her privately. Inviting her here was the only premise he could think of. Even her Valkyrie guard did not bother to enter with her; they would not believe that he could ever behave dishonourably.

"Soon," Heimdall told her, "you must make a choice. You will find that you are uncomfortable if you are long away from here. You will need to choose to either not return unless you must, and when you do, I will prevent you from looking out. Or – you will need to remain here, allow the transition to occur, and become a Guardian, even as I am."

"Oh," May breathed. Looked out of the window. "I could stay here?" She turned to look back up him. "With you?"

Heimdall's eyes widened. His hand raised, curving lightly around her jaw, and the tip of his thumb just brushed the tender skin below her left eye.

May instinctively struck out as the pain radiated through her eye socket. Hitting Heimdall was like hitting a tree, though, he never moved; but she managed to push herself away from him.

"What _happened_?" she gasped, fingers pressing at the spot from where that agony had bloomed. And then she realised that she could see her reflection in his armour and leaned forward, peering disbelievingly at the mark appearing on her cheek

Heimdall was looking at his hand in astonishment. And then he stared back at her, saying softly; "My soulmate? After all these long, lonely centuries – _you_ are my soulmate?"

"So it would seem," she stared up at him, rather awed. "Well, I guess that's my choice made then, isn't it?"

Heimdall seemed to shutter down instantly, taking a few steps back. "I will not ask you to stay with me if you choose not to become a Guardian – it is not an easy life…"

She took three quick running steps and leaped into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist. He was nearly a foot and a half taller than her, after all. How else would she have been able to grab his face in her hands and kiss him to silence?

**999 words.**

**Y'know, I really like this one. I like the idea of May finding peace from her rage and her demons, and Heimdall having someone to stand sentry with him, and go kick ass when required.**

**Very busy for the next couple of weeks, and with the Shorts getting down to some fairly obscure pairings I sometimes struggle with a premise for, they're unlikely to be daily for a while. There'll be SOMETHING from me every day, though, so you won't be too deprived!**


	105. Let's Blow This Joint, Baby (Clint&Wanda

**Let's Blow This Joint, Baby**

_Clint/Wanda_

HawkWitch, ScarletHawk, Witcheye?

**Theme song:**

**Frankie Goes To Hollywood – War**

He was thoroughly, _thoroughly_ sick of being undercover. Without his bow, he was just another gun, albeit an extremely accurate one. Faceless and nondescript, he'd gained a reputation for being a man who could keep secrets simply by very rarely speaking.

Consequently, he kept being tapped to bodyguard higher and higher-level officials in the secretive organisation he now worked for – the name of which he didn't even know, it was _that_ secretive. Until one day he was told to accompany the Vice-President of Research to a lab, and walked in to see a horribly familiar symbol painted on the wall.

Clint was too well-trained to let anything show on his face. He looked away from the octopus, keeping his expression incurious, scanned around the room with the blank-faced, thousand-yard stare of a highly-trained bodyguard. One scientist, he catalogued, two prisoners in cells. He dismissed the prisoners temporarily as no threat to his VP and assessed the scientist. Older, in his fifties or perhaps early sixties, but fit, moved well, strong for a lab nerd. _Hmm_.

Clint's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. He looked away from the scientist, checked out the prisoners. The cells were glass-walled in the front, simply furnished with a cot and not much else. One of the prisoners was a white-haired man, though he wasn't old, currently curled up asleep on his cot. The other was a beautiful young woman, or she would be beautiful if her dark hair wasn't tangled and her pale cheeks weren't stained with tears. She glared at him defiantly when she caught him looking at her.

Clint looked away, turned back to his VP and the scientist. It wasn't in character for him to ask questions, though he was desperately curious. No, better to listen. He might learn just as much, if not even more.

Half an hour later he trailed the VP out of the facility, having to use every ounce of his control to keep a tight lid on his rage. He turned once as they left, looking back at the young woman. She tilted her head and gave him a curious stare from inside her glass prison.

He went to call in assistance. Only, of course, the first person he called was Natasha, and she told him in the panickiest tones he'd ever heard from her that Fury was dead, SHIELD was imploding on itself and he needed to _get the fuck out Clint_, right _now_!

Okay. No time to wait for help, then. Time for Plan B.

And in Clint Barton's book, Plan B was also known as Plan Blow Everything The Fuck Up.

He'd already placed the charges. Smuggled in the plastic explosive, bit by painstaking bit over the weeks and months, hidden in the hollow heels of his boots. Molded and formed it into no less than twenty bombs, more than enough to bring down the facility. He could have detonated them all at once from anywhere in the world with a single text message.

Of course, it wasn't going to be that easy. Not now he'd decided he wasn't leaving there without the twin prisoners. So instead, he set off three charges at the other end of the facility, spaced five minutes apart, and in all the rushing and scrambling and shouting, used his rank and authoritative manner to barge his way into the research lab with that damned octopus on the wall.

"Time to evacuate, Herr Doktor," he barked at the scientist in German.

"I don't… wait, aren't you Gerhardt's bodyguard…?"

Clint shot him. Then ran to the control panel, swiftly tapping keys until the cell doors swung open.

The young man was out first, moving so fast he _blurred_ in front of Clint's astonished eyes. Snatched the gun from Clint's hand and shot the scientist twice more, in the head, before swinging the gun up and pointing it at Clint's face.

"Whoa, whoa, I'm here to help, I just let you out!" Clint said, taking a hurried step back.

"Don't shoot him, Pietro," a soft voice said, and he flicked his eyes sideways to see the girl walking towards them. There was a red glow about her hands that Clint _really_ didn't like the look of.

_Bloody superpowered people. How do I always get myself mixed up in this shit?_

"How do we know you're not one of _them_?" the girl turned to him, fixed him with her dark eyes.

Clint felt his eyebrows trying to climb off his face. _Surely not_. He held up his phone, tapped a button. There was a distant boom. "Because I'm the one blowing sixteen shades of shit out of this place?" he said, before realising that they might possibly not be the best soulwords to have on one's body. If they _were_ hers.

_Oh well. They were distinctive, anyway._

And obviously the girl recognised them, because her mouth dropped open and the red glow around her hands blinked out. "_You?_" she said disbelievingly. The guy was staring as well. Well, if he was her twin no doubt he knew what her words said.

"Apparently, yeah. Name's Clint Barton. Hawkeye. The Avenger with the bow, except I haven't got it because I'm undercover. You wanna get the fuck out of here?" he tapped another button. Another boom, this one closer.

The twins exchanged glances. "Yes," the girl said at last, apparently in conclusion to some unspoken discussion. She turned and gave Clint the full impact of her smile, which just about knocked him sideways, because she was _seriously_ gorgeous when she smiled. "Let's get out of here. I'm Wanda Maximoff, and this is my brother Pietro. It's nice to meet you, Clint Barton."

He grinned, and held out his free hand to her. Deciding to let Pietro keep the gun, for now at least. He looked like he knew what he was doing with it. "Let's blow this joint, baby."

Wanda took his hand, her smile widening even further. "You certainly know the way to _my_ heart."

**998 words.**

**Boom boom, baby.**


	106. Buy Me (Darcy & Angel)

**Buy Me**

_Darcy/Angel_

ShockedAngel

**Theme Song**

**ABBA – Money, Money, Money**

**I actually dreamed this scenario last night, woke up at 3 am and lay awake for an hour writing it in my head. Therefore, FTWL. It needed to be written. (This pairing wasn't even on the list. IDK where the hell the dream came from.)**

"_Yes_, Clint, I _promise_ I'll buy you if no-one else does," Darcy giggled at him.

"You're a doll," he dished out a hug.

"And you've been spending too much time with Steve and Bucky."

This was so not Darcy's scene, she thought as she sat back and sipped at her glass of champagne. Stark Industries' annual charity gala ball, complete with celebrity bachelor auction. Twenty thousand dollars a plate, and still they'd been hugely oversubscribed, because the whispers had got out that this year it wasn't a celebrity bachelor auction. It was a _superhero_ bachelor auction.

Pepper and Darcy had begged, bribed, bullied and eventually called in Natasha. And still the only one of the 'original' Avengers they could get on the list was Clint. Not that it mattered, with Sam, Rhodey and Pietro the Avengers were well-represented, not to mention a generous helping of X-Men and Johnny Storm.

Johnny was auctioned off first and surprisingly didn't fetch all that much – Darcy figured most of the women in the room had already dated him. Tony, acting as the auctioneer, revved up the crowd and got a much better price for Rhodey, who came zooming in over the crowd's head in the War Machine armour.

All the superheroes showed off their powers to oohs and ahhhs from the crowd. Gambit did some spectacular card tricks before exploding one in a whoosh of purple flames. Sam did a neat bit of really tight flying, and Pietro whizzed through the crowd. Iceman built a magnificent ice sculpture across the stage and Pyro created an absolutely stunning illusion of flames. Colossus armoured into metal and bent a piece of I-beam into a pretzel.

"How the hell am I supposed to follow all those?" Clint squeaked miserably. "All I do is shoot arrows!"

Darcy was there as his plus-one. Like hell she could have afforded a ticket. Oh, Pepper would have made her come along anyway, but – well, it was nice to have a date. Even if Clint was like the big bro she'd never had. "You'll be fine. Now go knock 'em dead." She waved her bidding paddle at him. He'd promised to cover her up to a bid of fifty thousand, which was more than Johnny Storm but less than any of the others had fetched. Privately, Darcy thought the only thing he'd have to worry about was fending off the rich trust-fund bitch who'd buy him. Especially since Pepper had made him come in his sleeveless battle suit.

There were oohs and ahhh's as Clint strode onto the stage, unslinging his bow from his shoulder. Tony introduced him to absolutely thunderous applause, and then Clint drew back slowly – letting everyone get a good look at his surging biceps, he was such a showman, Darcy thought – and fired an arrow into one of the mirrorballs above the crowd. It was a specially set up prop, exploding in a shower of tinsel.

Everyone was so busy squealing nobody heard Tony call for the first bid. And nobody bid: Darcy saw Clint's dejected face and snatched her paddle up. "Fifty thousand!" she yelled.

"Fifty thousand to number seventy eight!" Tony boomed, and suddenly everyone was paying attention, and the bids came thick and fast. Darcy stood with a small smile; her job done, she thought she might make her way to the bathroom. Her lipstick could probably do with a refresher.

"Are you _that_ desperate for a second date?" an amused voice said behind her.

Darcy spun around so fast she nearly fell off her Jimmy Choos – another gift from Pepper, the woman was far too generous to her staff. Stared up at the appallingly recognisable blond man standing there with a smirk on his handsome face.

Darcy took a deep breath, and said back the scornful words she'd long ago decided to feed her soulmate. No matter whether she'd spoken first. His reaction now would determine whether he was worth her time or if she'd walk away with her head held high and never see him again.

"Do I _look_ desperate?" she gestured down at her fabulous dress, a specially made number – she'd never have fit into anything off-the-peg – of course Pepper had paid for it too, but _he_ didn't know that.

Warren sucked in a shocked breath. He'd been eyeing the gorgeous brunette at the next table all night, feeling jealous as she hung on Barton's every word. She was stunning, just his type; all hourglass curves shown off to perfection by her shimmering, blue-green, fishtailed gown. He wanted to drown in those curves and never come up for air.

And now he'd just insulted his _soulmate_ because he felt jealous. He'd thought she was jumping to her feet to place another bid on Barton, who'd just been sold off to raucous applause.

"No," he said, having to lean close to be heard over the noise, deliberately keeping his eyes on hers instead of looking into that spectacular cleavage. "No, I'm the desperate fool. I'm up next. Buy me. Please. I'll cover whatever you have to bid."

Darcy's mouth fell open as he walked towards the stage.

_Well. Maybe he's worth the effort after all. And he sure is pretty._

"The last lot of the night," Tony declaimed once the crowd had quieted, "New York's most eligible billionaire philanthropist now I'm off the market," he flashed his wedding ring to laughter, "Warren Worthington III, also known as… Angel."

Warren walked up onto the stage, hands in his pockets. Looking ordinary, if incredibly handsome. And then, with a tremendous ripping sound, his dinner jacket and shirt were torn from his body as his immense white wings exploded free and he lifted off his feet to ghost silently above the crowd before returning to the stage.

The bidding was fast and furious. Throughout it all, Warren kept his eyes on Darcy, who hadn't even reached for her paddle. _Buy me. Please. I don't want to waste time with anyone else now I've found you._

_Such a lot of money!_ The bids had reached two hundred thousand, more than anyone but Clint and Gambit had fetched, and were still coming. Darcy bit her lip uncertainly. Warren was staring at her, his amazing wings curved up and fluttering slightly.

"Two twenty-five!" a nearby voice called, and Darcy looked across to see one of the society trust-fund bitches she hated so much, staring at Warren, licking her lips lasciviously. "I just wanna feel those feathers," the woman laughed to her friend, and Darcy suddenly felt a surge of possessiveness.

_He's MY soulmate. Nobody touches him but ME_. She snatched up her paddle. "Half a million dollars!"

Warren smiled. Tony stared at her disbelievingly. She waved her paddle firmly. "Half a million dollars."

The room had quieted until you could have heard a pin drop. Darcy's voice was clear and certain. Tony shrugged.

"I have half a million dollars to number seventy-eight. Any advance on half a million?"

The rich bitch was glaring at Darcy, her lips thinned. Darcy smiled sweetly back.

"Going, going, gone, to number seventy-eight, for half a million dollars! Sold!"

Clint had just arrived back at Darcy's side. "What the hell are you _doing_?" he hissed, shocked.

"He's my soulmate," Darcy stared up at him, starry-eyed, and his mouth fell open with shock before he recovered and dished out a hug.

"Oh, baby, _congratulations_. Angel's a really good guy. He's gonna make you so happy."

"Who bought you?" she had to ask.

"A rather sweet kid called Kate Bishop. She wants an archery lesson. I'm pretty sure I'm safe from wandering hands," he grinned.

"Oh good."

The crowd was oohing and ahhing again, a gust of cool air swept Darcy's hair around, and then Clint was looking over her shoulder, dropping his arms from around her.

Darcy turned with a smile, which faded to shocked horror as she saw the icy look Warren was shooting Clint.

_Oh my God he thinks I'm dating Clint…_

"He's like my really annoying big brother," she said hastily.

"Hey, I resemble that remark!"

Warren's glare softened, and he looked down at Darcy, who'd stepped close, putting her hand on his bare arm. "Really?"

"Really, I promise."

"Yes, really, and I'll be the one putting the arrows through you if you hurt her, Worthington."

"A shovel talk? Already?" Warren raised eyebrows at him.

"Seemed as appropriate a time as any," Clint shrugged with a grin. "You're the inappropriate one standing around half naked in the middle of a ballroom."

"That is true. We could fix that."

Darcy half expected him to pull out spare clothes from somewhere, but instead he slipped a muscled arm around her waist. "Want to come fly with me, beautiful?"

She hesitated. "As long as I don't flash the crowd…"

Warren chuckled. "Wouldn't let that happen." Another strong arm curved behind her knees, and he lifted her up bridal style. They swooped up into the air and out of the ballroom to the delighted cheers of the crowd.

He didn't take her high, not on a first flight and not without a safety harness, just flew them low until they reached his home, a magnificent mansion on an exclusive street, setting them down among the manicured gardens. Darcy hadn't made a sound during the flight, had just stared about in wonder, her arms holding on lightly around his neck.

"Thank you," she said softly as they settled to earth and he set her gently on her feet, his arms still about her. "That was _amazing_."

"I don't even know your name," he confessed.

"Darcy Lewis. I work for Pepper…"

"I've heard your name, but never been able to put a face to it. I'm sorry I insulted you," he said, shame-faced, "your words – I was so rude. You're so gorgeous and I was jealous of Barton."

Darcy smiled. "You don't have to be. I thought you might be an asshole because of the words, but – you're my _soulmate_. You just have moments of foot-in-mouth syndrome, don't you? Just like me."

He nodded. Relieved she understood.

"I'm sorry I bid half a million dollars of your money. I couldn't stand the thought of one of those rich bitches getting their hands on you…"

"Ten times as much would have been cheap," he said huskily. Her arms were still around his neck, and she was looking up at him, her face pale in the moonlight, even in her high heels short enough that her eyes were level with his chin. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"That's going to take some getting used to," Darcy admitted, "I'm not rich, this dress and the shoes are gifts from Pepper, and I was only there as Clint's plus-one because he begged me…"

"You're rich now. I'll shower you with everything you ever wanted," Warren promised softly. "Only the best for you, Darcy. And I'm going to send a thank-you note to Pepper for the dress because you were the most beautiful woman there tonight, I couldn't take my eyes off you…"

"Shut up and kiss me," she demanded.

He smiled and bent his head, his wings folding softly around them both.

**1862 words.**

**Crazy, crazy dream. All these superheroes were being auctioned off by Tony and I couldn't afford to bid on any of them sob.**


	107. Never Lie To Me (ClintHunter)

**Never Lie To Me**

_Clint/Hunter_

HawkHunter or HunterHawk – they both sound awesome

_A birthday gift for Miss Unspeakable. Happy 25__th__, honey._

**Theme song:**

**Midnight Blue – Lou Gramm**

**(this is, BTW, one of my FAVOURITE EVER songs. And so suitable after the latest AoS because I feel like Hunter's going to feel so utterly betrayed and he's going to need someone who's been there and suffered that to pick him up and love him…)**

**And I'm putting my Clairvoyant hat on again and saying that I believe the mysterious Backup is going to be… HAWKEYE. For realz.**

**(I shall expect much worshipping for my predictive genius if I am right. Of course if I am wrong we shall never mention it again…)**

"Too many times, Bob. I'm done. I'll not be used again. Not by you, not by anyone."

He stood straight, looked her in the eyes. She looked back. Finally, nodded, bowing her proud blonde head, and walked away.

He didn't watch her go. Turned back into the base, took a deep breath.

_Well. Time to get on with the rest of my life._ SHIELD's Director of Field Operations, now that was a job he could sink his teeth into. _Maybe one day I'll find someone I can actually trust_.

"That can't have been easy."

He didn't jump and scream. He did, though, clap a hand over his heart – his left hand, even while his right whipped out a gun. The man facing him, though, didn't move, just raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"She's a hard woman to walk away from."

Hunter's gun hand slowly lowered. He knew who the solidly muscled blond had to be, even without the bow poking up over one shoulder and the quiver on the other. That Clint Barton, the legendary Hawkeye, could possibly be his _soulmate_, though – that was just an impossible dream. _Surely_. "You'd know, so I heard."

Clint's other eyebrow rose to match the first before he laughed. "It's a lesson we all gotta learn." He unzipped his tac vest, pulled up his sleeveless undershirt to show the five scribbled words just above his belt. "Yours?"

"Yeah," Hunter found a stupid smile coming to his face. "Wow. How amusing, that two of Bobbi's exes should find themselves soulmates."

"Mm," Clint stepped closer, grinned back at him. "Well, she always did have good taste in men."

"Can't disagree with that," Hunter muttered raspily just before a powerful hand fisted in the front of his shirt and dragged him closer for a demandingly passionate kiss. And then Clint was pinning him against the wall and it was all teeth and tongues and fierce hunger until Mack's voice interrupted.

"Oh seriously Hunter, what the fuck? Bobbi only just _left_. Wait – is that _Clint_?"

"Hey Mack," Clint turned his head, breathing hard, grinned at the bigger man. "We're consoling each other."

Hunter cracked up laughing, leaning his head against Clint's shoulder with a feeling of relief. Clint got him, truly _got_ him in a way nobody else ever would, he was suddenly sure. He linked his arms around Clint's lean waist, held on tight. "He's my soulmate, Mack."

Mack looked at the pair of them, both grinning at him like a pair of truant kids. "God save us all," was all he said before turning and walking away.

"Goodness, you'd think he knew all about my penchant for practical jokes and ill-timed humour," Clint murmured, returning his attention to the man in his arms.

Hunter chuckled softly. "Well, he knows all about mine. Soulmate." Clint's hands felt so good on him, shoved up under his shirt. "My room's down that way. Before anyone else catches us."

"Don't care if they do. On the other hand," Clint's eyes were very blue as he gazed into Hunter's dark ones, "where's your mark?"

Hunter licked his lips. "In the small of my back." He couldn't stop thinking about the position they'd have to be in for the marks to meet, for the bond to form. Clint behind him, holding him tightly with those powerful arms… from the way those blue eyes darkened to an almost midnight shade, he knew Clint was thinking about that too.

"You want that? You want to bond with me?" Clint breathed it against Hunter's mouth, sliding a hand around to his back. He sensed the moment his fingers traced over the soulmark, the way Hunter relaxed into him, moaned against his lips.

"Yes," Hunter panted it. "I want someone who'll _get_ me. Who'll never lie to me, never betray me. If that's you – then let's go."

"Been lied to and betrayed too many times myself. I'd never do that to you, Lance."

"Hunter. Call me Hunter."

"If that's what you like." They were almost stumbling down the corridor, hanging on to each other. Shoving open the door to Hunter's room, kicking it shut behind them, shedding their weapons carelessly before falling onto the bed together, clinging to each other.

"Gonna show you just what I like," Hunter attacked Clint's clothes, nearly dragging them off him. Clint was returning the favour, every scrape of his calloused fingers along Hunter's skin driving him wild with need. "Find out just what you like too."

"Sounds good to me."

Afterwards, they lay curled together. They were just about the same height, though Clint was a little heavier with muscle. And Hunter had always rather liked being the little spoon. Besides, their soulmarks were pressed together in this position and he could _feel_ the bond, like a slowly strengthening cord binding them tighter. "Please don't push me away," Hunter whispered quietly, squeezing his eyes shut, hating himself for the moment of vulnerability.

Clint kissed the back of his neck. "The only place I'm pushing you," he murmured gently, "is up against the wall. Or maybe over your desk. Down on this bed again…"

**853 words.**

**That turned unexpectedly filthy. I totally blame Hunter for standing around without his shirt on in that episode of AoS (S02E12). I had to replay that bit quite a number of times. And then take screen captures. Used one to make the image for this Short and put the rest up on my tumblr…**

**And if this made you go UNNGGG at the thought of these two sexy males together, blame CeliaEquus. I do. She's been writing all these slashy pairings in **_**Fate Has A Twisted Sense Of Humour**_** that have got me all tied up in knots… I wish literally lol!**

**In case you missed it, as well, the last Short (Darcy/Angel) has been continued, but only on Ao3. Check out _Broken Wings In The City That Never Sleeps_ by BirdofFire, it's awesome!**


	108. Burned Boats (Clint & Brock Rumlow)

**Burned Boats**

_Clint Barton/Brock Rumlow_

CrossHawk or maybe HawkBones?

**Theme Song:**

**Frankie Goes To Hollywood – Two Tribes**

**Oh God, I don't even know any more. There's something very wrong with my subconscious. I dreamed about these two last night. SOMEBODY HELP ME.**

**Trigger warnings: suggested rape and torture. It doesn't actually happen.**

"We've caught Barton."

"You _what_?" Rumlow whipped around, his eyes widening. "_Clint_ Barton, as in _Hawkeye_? The _Avenger_?"

"Yes, sir, Commander Rumlow, sir." The soldier actually cowered, and Rumlow grimaced. Christ, HYDRA was weak these days. This useless calibre of idiot seemed to be all they had. Made him wonder why the fuck he bothered.

_Mind you, if they'd really caught Barton…_

They really had. He'd never met the legendary marksman face-to-face, Specialists and STRIKE didn't mix. Not without fights breaking out, anyway. But he'd seen plenty of pictures of the handsome blond bastard who was up near the top of HYDRA's capture-or-kill list. He spent a moment letting his eyes linger appreciatively on the thickly muscled biceps shown off nicely by the way Barton was chained to the wall before approaching.

"I've been wanting to meet you for the _longest_ time," he purred, tracing the knife in his hand down Barton's front. The shirt parted, revealing a nicely muscled chest, lean stomach… and a row of words in Rumlow's spiky handwriting.

"I can't say I return the sentiment," Clint said dryly.

Brock took a step back, his mouth dropping open. "_Fuck me_."

"I'd rather not, HYDRA scum. If it's all the same to you."

_I really thought this day couldn't get much worse, but I was oh so wrong…_

Clint watched as Brock Rumlow's swarthy skin paled. Thin white lines stood out sharply, remnants of the scars he'd received after the Triskelion fell on him. They still weren't sure how he'd survived; HYDRA had to have enhanced him somehow, Steve thought.

Rumlow was a handsome bastard, even scarred. Just the kind of guy who'd always made Clint's knees go weak, sleek black hair and eyes the colour of finest Scotch, olive skin and rough black stubble that would feel oh so good on his skin.

_And a murdering HYDRA bastard_, Clint reminded himself. Willing his body _not_ to get aroused.

Which worked right up until the moment Rumlow pushed up against him, chest to chest, brown eyes meeting blue.

"It _can't_ be you. I know what _you_ believe in," Brock hissed incredulously.

Clint took a deep breath.

_One chance. I might have one chance to bring him back to the light – or he might just kill me_… "Do you know what _you_ believe in?" he asked softly.

Brock hesitated. Because the HYDRA he'd believed in – had turned out to be something completely different. And SHIELD was gone – or the old SHIELD was, he'd heard there was a new one rising. Under Coulson, who he'd always respected a helluva lot more than he did Fury and his _acceptable casualty rates_.

"I could – maybe believe in you." He sheathed the knife. Lightly touched the bruises he could see springing up on Clint's ribs. "How badly are you hurt? Could you fight your way out of here, with me?"

"If I had to." Clint hesitated. "My bow was broken."

"Don't give me that. I know you're just as good with a gun." Brock smiled into his eyes. "We're being watched. No sound, fortunately. I'm expected to torture you for information."

"I'd really rather you didn't." Clint knew the camera was there, of course. But with the way Rumlow had positioned himself, their faces almost touching, there would be no view of either of their faces.

"I don't think I can make myself."

"That's good." Clint licked his lips, saw Rumlow's eyes follow the movement. "You could, um, rape me." _Oh, please do_…

One side of that hard mouth quirked up. "I don't think it'd count if you were clearly enjoying it." The hard thigh shoved between Clint's legs pressed a little harder, letting him know that Rumlow knew _all_ about his arousal.

"That's a shame." Clint's eyes almost rolled back in his head as Rumlow ground against him. A small whimper escaped his throat.

"Guess it's going to have to be the hard way, then."

"It's very hard, yes," Clint agreed, drunk on arousal, heard Rumlow's harsh chuckle.

"That's going to have to wait, Barton, more's the pity. I'm gonna uncuff you, drag you over to the table as though I _am_ going to rape you over it, all right?" He reached down to unlock the shackles on Clint's ankles first. "Struggle a bit. Once we're at the table it's only two steps to the door: there's two guys outside, another at the end of the corridor."

He kept talking in that low, raspy voice, his lips hardly moving as he uncuffed Clint's hands, forced his arms behind his back and dragged him to the table. He was a strong bastard: Clint honestly wasn't sure if he could have got away even if he'd really been trying to fight. Heat curled in the pit of his stomach at the thought. And then Rumlow was leaning over his back, pressing against him, and he could feel the other man's arousal against his ass.

"Thought that was going to have to wait?" he quipped.

"It is, but you do have a spectacular ass, Barton. I wouldn't be human if I wasn't at least a _little_ distracted." Something smooth and cold pressed into his left hand; obviously Rumlow knew he was left-handed. A gun. Something warmer into his right: the leather-wrapped handle of a knife. "Ready?"

"When you are."

They saved each other more than once during the fight out of the HYDRA base. By the time they were done, they were the only two souls still alive, leaning on each other, bloodied and bruised but still standing. Still together.

"Are you coming with me?" Clint asked as they stood at the doors, looking out into the forest outside.

"I think I burned my boats here," Rumlow looked down at the blood on his clothes. Looked up at Clint and nodded slowly. "I'm with you, Barton."

"Then let's go." Clint offered a hand, and Rumlow took it. They walked out of the HYDRA base together, hand in hand, heading towards the slowly setting sun.

**1000 words exactly.**

**Because Clint's ass could fix ANYTHING, isn't that right, rainydazylove? I am totally blaming you for that weirdass dream in which Rumlow was totally fixated on it. Which caused this fic. **


	109. Even Goddesses Get Butt Anxiety (TonySif

**Even Goddesses Get Butt Anxiety**

_Tony/Sif_

Iron Goddess – but I want to call it Iron Maiden. Can I call it Iron Maiden?

**Theme Song:**

**Fleetwood Mac – Little Lies**

**Contains minor spoilers for AoS, S02E12.**

"We need all the aid we can get," Thor said urgently, "will you come, Sif?"

"Of course," she didn't hesitate, scooping up her shield and sheathing her sword on her back. "I will be honoured to fight with you as always, Thor, and to meet your Midgardian comrades."

_Though I will have to guard my tongue, lest I speak accidentally of the Son of Coul…_

Thor didn't know of her visits to Midgard at Odin's command, first to retrieve Lorelei and secondly following the Kree Vin-Tak. She had respected the Son of Coul's request to keep his secret, and she would not betray it. Not after all that her friends of SHIELD had done for her, coming to her aid when the Kree stole her memory. But for them, who knows how long she might have wandered lost and alone?

After the battle was over, though, there was no reason for her to return quickly to Asgard. Indeed, it would have been rude to decline to stay and celebrate the Avengers' victory with them. It was then that things started to go wrong.

"Huh, you're much better with that than Thor," the Man of Iron remarked as her fingers danced lightly over a tablet screen. "Took him ages to get the hang of it. You've spent time on Earth lately?"

"Nay, Sif has been here but once in the last three centuries, I believe," Thor chuckled, "to help fight the Destroyer in New Mexico."

She was a terrible liar. She didn't _like_ lying, it went entirely against her code of honour, she hadn't told a lie and got away with it in more years than she could even recall. Sif drew in a deep breath, laid the tablet down and smiled wordlessly.

Dark eyes examined her intensely.

_Oh Odin, he suspects something…_

_She's hiding something, now what could that be? _

Tony had barely been able to take his eyes off Sif ever since she turned up with Thor at the beginning of the fight. She'd kicked ass unbelievably well with that bigass sword of hers, lithe and fabulously beautiful, she was easily the most fascinating woman he'd ever met.

_And she's an alien. Figures_.

But because he was Tony Stark, he wasn't going to let a little thing like that bother him. So he'd sidled up during the after-party, thinking he might just hit on her anyway. Even if she probably would put him through the wall. It was always worth a try…

Only now Sif was even more intriguing, because she was lying about something. About having been on Earth recently, unless he missed his guess. Because she was handling pretty new tech in a very familiar way, and why would she not want Thor to know? Or – _him_? Because that sure looked like a guilty look in her magnificent grey eyes as she hastily set the tablet down and retreated, casting him an almost frantic glance.

_I didn't even try to hit on her yet_…

Tony couldn't resist a mystery. So he followed Sif over to the bar, poured her another drink – not that he was going to get it out of her that way, Asgardians didn't get drunk on liquor, although Sif rather liked the taste of his margaritas – and said;

"I wouldn't tell Thor, if you didn't want me to."

"Tell Thor what?" she tried to look guileless. She failed.

"Whatever your reason is for having been down here in the last couple of years. Interplanetary booty call or whatever, I get it, not going to tell Thor. I'm just curious."

"Inter…" Apparently All-Speak only went so far. She took a moment to realize what he meant. "No!"

Tony couldn't quite help but feel relieved. And slightly insulted, because she'd looked vaguely horrified by the thought. "Hey, we're biologically compatible with Asgardians – you know that, right?"

Sif actually found herself smiling as Stark waggled his eyebrows cheekily at her. "Yes, I know that. But _that_ was not my reason for being on Midgard."

"So you admit you were on Midgard?"

"Odin's eye," she groaned. "I would be a terrible conspirator."

Tony found himself grinning with sympathy. "Hey, it's no bad thing to be a terrible liar. I'm an extremely good liar and it gets me into all kinds of trouble." He put out a hand, intending to rest it on her forearm sympathetically. Except when he touched her, a sudden pain seared up through his palm, making him yelp aloud.

"Oh!" Sif let out a cry of astonishment as she looked at her arm, at the red and gold symbols appearing there. She grasped Tony's hand in hers, flipped it over to see the runes of her name on his palm in silver. "My soulmate!"

Tony said the only thing that came to his mind. "Bad. Ass."

"You – do not approve of my figure?"

He almost died at the look that appeared on her face. Apparently even stunning Asgardian war goddesses could have butt anxiety. "No! God, no, you have a very stunning ass – um, er, _figure_, all together, yeah. I meant, badass, as in, you're obviously my soulmate because you're so dangerous…"

"Oh," Sif's full mouth curved in a pleased smile. "Yes. I am happy that my mate is a warrior such as yourself."

"Errr." For perhaps the first time in his life, Tony was lost for words as she moved closer and her slim, incredibly strong arms wound around his neck.

He forgot completely about the puzzle of Sif's recent visits to Midgard until very late that night. Lying sated in his huge bed, his mind was still whirring even though his body was utterly exhausted. Sif, sprawled beside him with one of her slender hands on his stomach, had a very contented smile on her face and he was feeling quite smug about that.

And then his brain reminded him of his earlier curiosity.

"So, angel," he murmured, "when and why exactly _did_ you visit Midgard, then?"

Sif froze. "Um."

**998 words.**

**I quite like the idea that it was Sif who gave Coulson away just because she's completely incapable of lying. And Tony would be completely incapable of leaving it the hell alone.**


	110. It's A Conspiracy! (Fitz & Kitty Pryde)

**It's A Conspiracy**

_Fitz/Kitty Pryde_

ShadowEngineer

**Theme Song:**

**Bruce Springsteen – Dancing In The Dark**

"I can't get in. Can't make it," Fitz gestured. "Make it."

"Connect," Mack agreed.

"Yes."

They were kneeling in front of an electronic door panel, tinkering with the interface. It was vastly more complicated than anything Fitz had ever seen before.

And on the other side of that door was a back way in to a HYDRA facility full of imprisoned loyal SHIELD agents.

Skye had found the information on the prison. Coulson had immediately ordered a raid, before the prisoners were moved, or killed – or worse. But they couldn't get in if Fitz couldn't get the door open. Skye didn't dare quake it in case she wrecked the tunnel beyond.

"Urgh!" Fitz hissed with frustration. It wasn't his brain, wasn't even his hands. It was just going to take too much _time_. Time they really didn't have. Because in exactly seven minutes, the X-Men were going to launch a massive attack on the front end of the facility, and by then SHIELD needed to be _inside_, protecting the prisoners.

"Storm, we're going to have to abort," Coulson muttered into his comm. "We can't get the door open."

"All right," Storm's calm voice said, "let's not pull the plug just yet. We'll delay by twenty minutes. I'm sending you some help."

A couple of minutes later, Phil clutched his heart as a tiny brunette walked _right through_ the wall next to him unexpectedly.

"Sorry, sir," she twinkled up at him, headed straight over to where Fitz and Mack were kneeling. Peered unobtrusively over their shoulders for a moment before saying quietly; "Do you think it might be easier from the other side?"

Fitz dropped his tablet. Fortunately, Mack caught it before it hit the floor. "I'm sure it would, miss, there might even be a simple exit button there," Mack glanced up at her, "but we can't exactly _get through._ If we could I'm sure Turbo here could sort it."

"Hm," she tilted her head and smiled at Fitz. "Well, then. How about I take you through and we take a look?"

Fitz appeared to have lost his voice completely, so Mack spoke for him. "How're you gonna do that, miss?"

"Oh," the smile turned mischievous. "It's a gift." She took the tablet from Mack's hands. Offered her free hand to Fitz. He took it with a bemused blink, standing as she tugged lightly to bring him to his feet – and she pulled him straight _through_ the door.

Kitty looked up at the cute young engineer with the curly hair and the very blue eyes. He was taller than her – at five foot one, _everyone_ was taller than her – but not too much, not so big she had to crane her neck to look at him. She smiled at him again. "Would you look at that." There was a big green button labelled _Exit_. She pushed the button and the door swung open.

"That's a neat trick," Fitz finally found his voice, said a silent prayer of thanks that the words came out un-garbled.

"Pushing a button? Not so hard," the tiny, pretty brunette gave him that adorably mischievous grin again. "Wait," pretty dark eyes widened. "You said my words!"

He nodded, rendered mute again by her blinding smile.

"Well!" Kitty smiled delightedly. "What appallingly bad timing. Because I have to go." She pushed right up against him, slim arms wrapping around his waist, uncaring of the SHIELD agents staring at them wide-eyed. "You'd better give me a kiss first."

Well, he didn't have to use his voice for _that_. And hopefully she'd interpret the shaking of his hands as nervousness. Which it was, at least in part, as Fitz bent his head. She was _tiny_, a slender waif in his arms, but her lips were warm and soft under his.

And then she was gone, vanishing back through the wall, and he could hardly believe she'd ever been there.

"I d-d-don't even know your n-name," he said to the blank wall.

By the time the fight was over and the prison secured, he knew her code name was Shadowcat, but the X-Men wouldn't tell him anything else. She'd apparently found out _his_ name though, because as he was investigating a curious-looking device in one of the labs, she phased through the wall again.

"Hi, Leo."

"C-call me Fitz."

"Okay," she said with that adorable grin. "I'm Kitty."

It suited her. She was cute as a button, a mischievous glint in her eye as she came up beside him and slipped a tiny hand into his.

"Want to get out of here, Fitz?"

"I should…" he gestured helplessly around the lab.

"Go," Mack said cheerfully from the other side of the room. "I can catalogue all this stuff. Not every day you meet your soulmate, Fitz."

Kitty gave the huge mechanic a delighted smile as he winked at her. "Oh, I can see you and I are going to get on _really_ well."

"Just take care of Turbo," Mack nodded before returning his attention to the machinery.

"Yeah, take off, Fitz," Coulson's voice crackled in his comm. "Hunter, Bobbi and I are on our way down to help Mack. You and Shadowcat go get to know each other."

"This is a…" _oh no_, he couldn't think of the word…

"It is indeed a conspiracy," Kitty beamed up at him. "Oh noes, all your friends want me to make you happy, Fitz! Whatever shall we do?"

That smile was just so _infectious_. He was helpless in the face of her bright-eyed cheer, found himself smiling back. _She even understood what I meant_.

"I think," he murmured, putting his free arm around her waist and tugging her close, "maybe we should go somewhere private. And you could show me your soulmark." Considering the position of the words on his hip, he was guessing hers could be somewhere quite a bit more intimate.

Pink stained Kitty's pale cheeks, but her smile didn't waver. "We'll definitely need to be somewhere private for _that_."

**999 words.**


	111. A Plus (Clint & Jane)

**A Plus**

_Clint/Jane_

Clintane, possibly?

**Theme song:**

**Goo Goo Dolls – All That You Are**

**For Pinkpandoracorn, who wanted Clint/Jane fluff. Because she makes me happy writing Rumlow/Rollins/Darcy porn.**

"Oh _there_ you are."

Clint raised an eyebrow at Tony. He wasn't exactly hiding. He was, in fact, sitting on the lounge in the common room – well, perched on the back of it – eating microwave popcorn and watching _Dog Cops_. One question to JARVIS would have provided his location. Even if he _had_ been hiding.

"You were looking for me?"

"Yes, wanted to introduce you to our new resident. I know you don't like unexpected new people wandering around…"

_Understatement. _

But then a slender woman stepped out from where she'd been standing behind Tony and Clint thought the day might be looking up, actually. Because she was lovely, slim and delicate, with pearly pale skin and eyes like warm cocoa, sleek dark hair falling past her shoulders.

"This is Doctor Jane Foster, Thor's girlfriend."

_Oh, bollocks_.

Anyone else's girlfriend and he might have flirted with her anyway, but Thor – no, that wasn't happening. Clint _liked_ Thor, despite the way the big guy tried to excuse his nutbag brother's actions. Thor wasn't the only one with a problematic brother, after all.

He forced a smile and offered his hand. Realised an instant later that it still had the bowl of popcorn in it.

Foster didn't miss a beat. Helped herself to a piece of popcorn and ate it, rounding on Stark and giving him a glare that actually made the billionaire step back. "Will you _stop_ introducing me as Thor's girlfriend? Firstly, it's totally demeaning to anyone to identify them by means of their relationship with another person. How would you like it if you were only introduced as 'Pepper Potts' fuck-buddy'? And secondly, I'm not _Thor's girlfriend_. We're _friends_, that's _all_."

Clint's mouth had fallen open. The only person he'd ever heard smack Tony down like that was Pepper. Stark was just standing there now with his shoulders hunched as the tiny, gorgeous doctor tore into him.

"I think I'm in love with you."

"What?" Jane blinked. Tore her attention off Stark, who _totally_ had that coming. Looked back at the handsome, broad-shouldered guy perched on the back of the couch, still holding the popcorn bowl in her direction. She took another piece and crunched it absently.

Sexy Shoulders was staring at her from intense blue-grey eyes. And he had just said the words of her soulmark, which, cheesy line that it was, she'd never actually heard said to her as the _first_ words someone spoke. She gave him a once-over, her eyes lingering on the thickly muscled arms shown off nicely by his sleeveless black T-shirt. _Well, that would be nice, but I doubt I'm that lucky_.

"I don't even know your name, Sexy McBiceps," she said.

Clint nearly fell off the couch. Jane caught the popcorn bowl as it tilted – _do not drop the yummies!_ – and held it firmly as he landed on his feet and stood staring down at her. He wasn't Thor-sized but he had to be pushing six feet.

"Get out, Stark," Clint said.

"What? I'll have you know this is my Tower…"

"Get out or I'll call Natasha."

Stark bolted, but Jane never noticed, because the blond was stripping off his shirt.

_Oh. My. God._

_Muscles_. Muscles everywhere – and scars – _the poor darling – oh, and my handwriting, right there over his heart_…

It was Clint's turn to catch the popcorn bowl. He set it on the table to avoid the otherwise inevitable spillage.

"It _is_ your writing, then?"

"Um," was about all Jane could say. Still dazed by the _muscles_.

"And my name's Clint, not Sexy McBiceps. Clint Barton."

"Wait," she knew _that_ name. "_Hawkeye_?"

"That's what they call me." He grinned. "I gotta say, you're completely gorgeous, but I'm trying to figure out how my soulmate can be a science genius, considering my complete and utter lack of anything resembling a formal education."

"Oh," Jane blinked, "isn't it obvious?"

"No?" he blinked at her.

"You're an instinctive mathematician. I've seen the shots you make, they're so finely calculated, you're obviously doing some incredibly complex aerodynamic math on trajectory, wind speed, momentum, predicting variables for moving targets – all in your head, and without even realising it; a formal education would probably slow you down because you'd have to take the time to translate it all to mathematical equations – I kind of envy you, actually…"

He reached out, sliding his arms around her tiny waist. Jane's hands somehow landed on his biceps – _well where else would I put them?_ – and she looked up at him, falling silent at the look on his face.

"You're very sexy when you talk science and math," Clint murmured huskily.

"Uhn," Jane said eloquently.

"I'm gonna kiss you now."

"Oh yes ple…" he didn't let her finish the word.

They were interrupted by Thor's booming voice. "Eyes of Hawk, why are you attempting to put your tongue into Lady Jane's mouth? Unhand her immediately!"

"It's called kissing, Thor," Jane said breathlessly as Clint lifted his head reluctantly. He'd backed her up to the couch and they'd toppled onto it, Jane wrapping her legs quite shamelessly around Clint's lean waist. "I'm not objecting. Definitely not objecting."

Thor lowered Mjolnir. "I – feel as though I should defend your honour. Even if you do not object…"

"He's my soulmate," Jane cut him off hastily.

"Oh, well. That's all right then," Thor nodded majestically, gathered up the abandoned bowl of popcorn and departed. "Carry on," he said between crunches.

"I didn't need his permission," Clint murmured hotly against Jane's neck, "but now we have the royal Asgardian seal of approval, shall we take this somewhere more private?"

Jane's eyes rolled back in her head as his tongue did something wicked to her ear. "Private. Good plan."

He chuckled, scooping her easily up in his arms. "I can demonstrate some more of that natural math you seem to think I'm gifted at. You plus me equals ecstasy."

Jane giggled against his chest. "A plus."

**990 words.**

**Because Fury described Clint as one of "two of the smartest men I know". The other one was Eric Selvig. And nobody gets to be that good a marksman without being an instinctive mathematician, as Jane would realise.**


	112. All Wrong For You (Clint & Pepper)

**All Wrong For You**

_Pepper/Clint_

Clipper!

**Theme song:**

**Delta Goodrem – Lost Without You **

"Tony," Pepper said exasperatedly. "Sign this and you can go back to playing."

"I am not five," Tony scowled at her and then scribbled his signature on the document she was holding out.

"Could have fooled me," Pepper murmured fondly. Resisting the urge to ruffle his dark hair. She gave in as she passed Bruce at his lab bench. Bruce never minded, and he did have such lovely fluffy hair. He gave her an absent-minded smile, and then grunted as Tony wrapped arms around him from behind.

"I know, Brucie, let's play hooky and go see Hawkeye!"

"Let's not. Last time you broke into his apartment his dog bit you."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot about the hellhound!" Tony pouted. "Well – maybe he'd come over here?"

"He never comes here. He doesn't like the place. Says he has bad memories of Loki."

"Does he?" Pepper frowned at Bruce's words. "Oh. Poor Agent Barton."

Bruce chuckled at that. "Don't call him Agent Barton, Pepper, only Fury calls him that and he seems determined to act up whenever he hears the name. Call him Clint."

Pepper shrugged. "I would if I ever met him."

Tony and Bruce both blinked. "You're seriously never met Legolas?" Tony said in surprise. "How is that possible? He's been an Avenger for a year and a half!"

Pepper shrugged. "Like you said, he doesn't come here. Where else would I have met him?"

"True," Tony cocked his head. "Well, we can't have that. Clint's one of our bros. And who knows when I might need to call on him to protect you!"

"Oh stop," Pepper poked him in the shoulder. "Oddly enough, now you and I are no longer involved, I never seem to need protecting any more."

"That is, oddly, true. And Brucie baby can take care of himself. Or Big Green can, anyway."

Bruce smiled. "You're right though, Clint and Pepper should meet. Why don't we have a team bonding night away from the Tower sometime?"

"See, he's so smart, this is why I adore him," Tony told Pepper, hugging Bruce even tighter. Bruce rolled his eyes as though pleading for help – but didn't make any effort to break Tony's hold. Pepper smiled fondly, heading for the door.

"I'll find a nice bar somewhere and book it," she said over her shoulder.

Considering the media circus that would have been involved in a public night out, Pepper made sure to book the whole bar, and sent in Natasha to make sure that the surveillance cameras were turned off and all the staff were suitably terrified of the Black Widow and wouldn't be taking any phone pictures to put on social media.

By the time the agreed date came around, Pepper had pretty much forgotten that the whole supposed purpose of the night was for her to meet Clint. She was sitting on a very comfortable couch in between Nat and Maria enjoying a well-made martini when the archer walked in, looking delicious in a sleeveless black shirt and ripped, faded blue jeans.

"Clint!" Nat called at once, waving her arm. Pepper had heard endless stories of the two former SHIELD agents' escapades together; Natasha called Clint 'the brother I never had' which really had to mean something, from the aloof Russian.

So Pepper was startled when Clint's blue gaze ran over the three of them, he paled, turned on his heel and walked abruptly out again.

"What the hell?" Natasha and Maria said in unison, and then the redhead was on her feet and chasing after her friend. She caught up to him in the alley outside.

"Clint Barton," she started, "what the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

He turned to face her, shoulders tense. "I can't."

Natasha folded her arms and glared. "Start talking."

Clint groaned. Scrubbed his hands over his face. "If I tell you, will you promise not to try and change my mind?"

"Maybe."

That was about as good as he'd get from her, he knew. "Pepper Potts is my soulmate."

Natasha's mouth dropped open. "Does she know?" she asked after a moment.

"No. I haven't spoken to her and I don't intend to. She spoke to me on the phone one time, when Tony was trying to convince me to move to the Tower. Said 'oh please come, we'd love to have you here with us'. I didn't speak back, but I looked up samples of her handwriting. I'm sure."

"Oh." Natasha hummed, then leaned against the wall beside him. "Do you not think you're not being a little unfair to her, not giving her the choice?"

"What, the choice of rejecting me or being saddled with an unstable, washed-up carnie?" Clint shook his head. "She's better off without me, Nat. Look at her: she's beautiful, successful. It might not have worked out with Tony but sure as hell there's someone better out there for her than me." He closed his eyes in pain.

The click of heels was his only warning before a slender hand smacked across his chest. "Don't you dare put my soulmate down like that!"

Clint cast Natasha a betrayed glare. She held up her phone and grinned before melting away, leaving him to face Pepper's wrath. _Some partner_. And then he sighed and looked into Pepper's eyes, such a beautiful blue. He allowed himself one long look. _God, so beautiful_. She was so very, very beautiful, with her red-gold hair, that spray of freckles across her nose he could spend hours mapping.

"I'm all wrong for you," he said.

"I'll be the judge of that," Pepper said past the lump in her throat. "Now shut up and kiss me. And then we're going to get your dog and you're moving into the damn Tower."

"You're very bossy," but he couldn't quite stop himself from bringing his hands up, cupping her slender shoulders. She smiled, leaning in, reaching for his mouth. Whispered against his lips;

"I'll let you give orders sometimes – but only in bed."

**999 words.**


	113. You Remind Me Of The Babe (Nat & Sif)

**You Remind Me Of The Babe**

_Natasha/Sif_

BlackWar, WidowWar, WidowGoddess, BlackGoddess, Siftasha… call it what you like, they all sound REALLY COOL.

**Theme song:**

**David Bowie – Dance Magic Dance (Babe With The Voodoo song from Labyrinth)**

"You remind me of my friend Lady Sif," Thor said with amusement one evening, watching as Natasha sprawled comfortably along the couch, her head in Steve's lap and her feet in Clint's. Steve looked uncertain and faintly terrified; Clint was giving Natasha a foot massage.

"Is she a babe?" Natasha drawled.

"What?" Thor blinked uncertainly, looked at Clint for translation.

"Is she pretty?"

"Oh," Thor looked confused for a moment. "I – suppose so? Sorry, Lady Natasha – I cannot say that I have ever looked at Sif in that way. She is like a sister to me. Many in Asgard have pursued her, though; I suppose most would think her beautiful." He grinned. "She prefers the company of women, as do you. Many a hapless fool has felt the lash of her tongue – or the bite of her blades – when they attempted to press their suit."

"I like her already," Natasha smirked.

"And thanks for the warning, I'll remember not to hit on her," Clint said cheerfully. "Flirt with her!" he added hastily as Thor looked shocked. "If we ever meet, anyway. Considering that she lives on another planet, it's not so likely…"

"Shame," Natasha murmured. "I think I'd quite like to meet an Asgardian version of me."

Steve shivered and spoke for the first time in the conversation. "One of you is quite enough, Nat. I'm not sure Earth would survive _two _of you."

xoxoxoxox

Natasha had almost – but not quite – forgotten the conversation when Thor flew into the middle of a fight one day and dropped a woman beside her.

"You must be the babe," Natasha said flippantly, popping up out of cover and firing off a couple of shots. And obviously Thor was blind as a bat because Sif _was _a babe, tall and dark with milky white skin and stunning grey eyes. She looked beyond spectacular in silver Asgardian armour, shield and sword in hand.

"Thor has told me of the modern usage of this word. I thank you for the compliment," Sif chuckled, eyeing the stunning redhead appreciatively. Dressed in black hides, guns in her hands. "And may I say that it is an honour to finally come to fight beside you, shield-sister? I have been seeking permission to do so ever since Thor told me of you."

Natasha grinned. "I've been looking forward to meeting you too." A loud boom behind her made her startle and turn, and then Sif was somersaulting over her head with a ululating battle cry.

"Hey, wait up!" Natasha went after her, laughing. "Leave some for me to kill!"

"You had a head start on me today," Sif shouted back, decapitating one of the ugly pig-dog hybrid looking beasts today's crew of alien invaders apparently kept as attack pets. "Five."

Natasha's smile widened to a grin a shark might envy. She shot another pig-dog beast in the head. "Eighteen."

xoxoxoxox

"Thirty-seven!"

"Forty!" _Damn, she's catching me up… and I'm out of ammo_…

They were atop a bridge, which suddenly shook and groaned as a small flying craft dragged from the sky by Hulk crash-landed on the other end of it. Thrown from her feet, Natasha's head impacted hard with the balustrading. She never heard Sif's horrified scream of her name.

"Natasha!" Only a millennium of training stopped Sif from throwing down her sword and running over to her new friend. She took her sword with her instead, killing a couple more beasts on the way, standing over the redhead's fallen body and slashing at any who were foolish enough to come near. Jerking her shield up her arm, she freed one hand, stooped and grabbed Natasha's belt.

"Heimdall! Open the Bifrost!"

xoxoxoxox

Natasha opened her eyes to see a faint blue haze in a bubble above her. It was a very unfamiliar sight, so she scrabbled instinctively for weapons, tensing as she found none – found _nothing_. Only a thin sheet draping her body. _Well, I'm not restrained, so that's a good start_… she sat up, bounced off the hazy blue bubble, and collapsed back down again.

"Lady Natasha, you must lie still!" a voice said, and she looked up to see an anxious face peering at her through the bubble. "The Soul Forge has not yet completed its work… I am Eir the Healer, you are on Asgard, your soulmate brought you here…"

"I don't have a soulmate," Natasha said, "I don't have a mark. Quite possibly I don't have a soul." _And if I do, it's black and gushing red._..

"You should not say such things," Eir reproved gently. She did something off to the side and the blue bubble disappeared. "And you have a mark now, my lady." She held something up. A mirror.

Natasha blinked at the black and silver runic marks on her throat. _Well, they're going to be a bit hard to hide when I'm undercover_, was her first, inconsequential thought. She'd seen the marks on Thor's biceps and Jane Foster's hand, knew what an Asgardian soul-mark looked like. "Who?" she croaked after a moment.

Eir's eyes flew wide. "You do not – ah. Um." She backed hastily towards the door.

"Please tell me it's not Loki!"

Sif laughed aloud as she came in, passing Eir in the doorway. "It's not Loki."

"Oh good," Natasha slumped with relief. Blinked as Sif held a hand out in front of her, stared at the black and red spider etched across those long, elegant fingers.

"I hope I am not too much of a disappointment?" Sif said quietly.

Natasha stared up into those storm-grey eyes. Realised just why it was that she'd felt such a kinship with Sif from the very first moment. Smiled.

"You could never be a disappointment, babe."

**952 words.**

**Steve's got the right idea. BE AFRAID. Be VERY afraid.**


	114. The Babe With The Voodoo (Rumlow &Wanda)

**The Babe With The Voodoo**

_Brock Rumlow/Wanda_

WitchBones

**Theme song:**

**James Taylor – Fire And Rain**

**(Title comes from Labyrinth, but it does seem awfully appropriate for Wanda)**

_...pain..._

_...PAIN..._

_I used to think I understood pain…_

Brock Rumlow lay still, as still as he could hold himself. Some of his skin had burned far enough down that the nerve endings were dead.

But only some of it.

He couldn't feel his legs. His spine was damaged, he knew that, had gleaned as much from whispered conversations between medical staff as they fussed over him. His body, once a well-oiled fighting machine, was ruined. Beyond repair. Even the injections HYDRA had given him, to strengthen him for the fight to come - even they couldn't repair this.

_Just let me die_, he tried to whisper, but couldn't make a sound come from his smoke-ruined throat. _Let me die_.

"The poor man," a female voice said. Accented, Eastern European somewhere – sweet and soft. "I'm not a healer, sir, I don't know what you think I could do…"

Brock forced his sore, burned eyelids open. Saw a beautiful young woman leaning over him. She had long dark hair and dark eyes, soft creamy skin. He'd have hit on her in a hot second in any other situation.

"I know you can't heal, Wanda," another accented voice said. Brock would have frowned if he could, because he knew _that_ voice. _Von Strucker? Here?_ "But you can increase the probability that he _will_ heal, yes?"

"You're talking about a miracle."

"Those are your specialty, are they not?"

The girl – Wanda – bit her lower lip, nibbling on it thoughtfully as she stared down at Brock. He gazed back at her, memorising her face. Miracles notwithstanding, he was fairly sure he was dying. Dying with a beautiful woman's face the last thing he saw, well that was a blessing he'd never expected.

Slender hands lifted over his body, silver rings on her fingers shimmering in the light, bracelets clinking about her wrists. And then a red glow began to form around her fingers.

"A miracle," Wanda muttered to herself. "Right." It would take more than one miracle, she thought, looking at the ruined form of the man von Strucker had told her was HYDRA's finest field commander. She despised everything HYDRA stood for, served only because she had no choice – but no one deserved to suffer as this man clearly was. She could see the agony in his eyes.

And then a thought occurred to her. She sneaked a glance over her shoulder at von Strucker, who'd moved away outside the room – it did smell kind of like burned meat in here.

"Maybe it could be a miracle for both of us," Wanda whispered to the broken man in front of her. His eyes widened and he seemed to be trying to say something. She touched a finger lightly to his lips. "Sshh. Don't try to talk. I hope this doesn't hurt you any worse…"

The hex flooded down out of her hand into his body. There was no noticeable difference – well, there wouldn't be yet. All she'd done was change the possibility that his body would heal itself from _effectively impossible_, to _it's going to happen_. It would still take time.

Well, that and one other little thing…

"I'll see you again one day," she whispered, with a last caress of her finger on his lips before walking away.

_Determination_. That was what drove Brock through the weeks and months that followed. Determination to find Wanda again, to get her away from von Strucker who was clearly using her for his own nefarious purposes. And that wasn't right, because she was _his_. His soulmate. And he needed to find her again so that he could say her words, so that she would know him.

He healed faster and more completely than he could ever have imagined might be possible. It wasn't easy – his legs in particular took a lot of agonising therapy – but almost a year and a half after the Triskelion and the helicarrier fell on him, Brock Rumlow was a whole man again. Strong, unscarred – and ready.

The first thing he planned to do was go looking for von Strucker. Only, once he got away from the HYDRA-run rehab facility, he found out that von Strucker was dead, the Twins – whoever the hell they were – had gone and joined the Avengers and got into a messy fight with some AI called Ultron, built by Tony Stark, which had pulled a Skynet on him. Standing in a seedy bar staring incredulously at the screen, he caught a flash of dark hair and froze.

"_Wanda_," he breathed out as the camera zoomed in and he saw her. Fighting back to back with Barton; shit, she was an _Avenger_! She had to be one of the Twins he'd heard mentioned.

"They're calling her the Scarlet Witch," the bartender saw what he was looking at. "Cap was on the TV saying her and her brother had been tortured and experimented on by HYDRA, gave them superpowers."

Rumlow said nothing. Just pushed his way out silently and stood in a darkened alleyway outside, hands on his knees breathing hard.

_An Avenger. My soulmate's an Avenger._

_Shit._

They found him a month later. He'd run across the Winter Soldier, managed to convince him he was no longer HYDRA, and the pair of them had gone on what could only be described as a killing spree, methodically cleaning out every HYDRA cell they could find.

Brock was knocked off his feet by something moving too fast to see. He caught a glimpse of Barnes being wrestled up against the wall by Cap – _oh well, he'll be all right then_ – as he skidded across the floor and came to a stop, flat on his back. An arrow pointed at his left eye.

"Hello, Barton."

"_You_!" he heard the bowstring creak, but he wasn't going to shut his eyes and wait for the impact. He stared back at Barton defiantly.

"Stop," the voice that had haunted his dreams said, and a gentle hand glowing with red light pressed the arrow aside. "Wait, Clint. He's been doing the same work as us."

Jealousy roared up inside Brock at the familiar way she said Barton's first name, at the way they were standing close together. He bared his teeth in a rictus of a grin. "All for your sake, sweetheart."

Wanda blinked, staring down at the dark-haired man lying at her feet. At the dark eyes that seemed somehow familiar. It wasn't possible, if he'd said her soulmark words, but "Have we met before?"

Brock smiled tightly. "I'm not surprised you don't remember. I looked a lot messier."

"Back off, Clint," Wanda said sharply then.

"That's Brock Rumlow, Wanda. He's one of HYDRA's most dangerous operatives. We thought he died when SHIELD fell…"

"Somehow I don't think he's HYDRA now," Wanda gestured at the mess around them. "He and Barnes were doing quite a job of trashing the place." She pushed Clint back. "Let him up."

Brock rose to his feet, looked down at Wanda. Glanced at the way Clint still stood protectively close, his heart twisting. "Thank you," he said quietly, "for saving my life."

"Wait!" Wanda cried out as he turned to walk away. Hurrying forward, she put her hand on his arm. "I remember you," she said softly, looking up at him. "You don't mean that I saved your life today, do you? You were the man with the burns."

"And the crushed spine, the broken legs, the shattered ribs. I only healed thanks to whatever you did to me, I know that. I knew then that you hated HYDRA, made a promise to myself that if I did recover, that I'd get you away from them. You'd already done that yourself, though, and since you were with the Avengers clearly you'd want nothing to do with me."

"But I do," slim fingers wrapped tighter around his forearm. "You're my soulmate."

Barton gasped loudly. A grey-blue blur coalesced at his side and suddenly there was another man there, solidly built, white-haired and blue eyed.

"I'm no good for you," Brock ignored the two men, focussed on Wanda. On her delicately lovely face, upturned to his with a look of wonder in her dark eyes. "I'm not a good man, I've done some awful things, caused a lot of deaths of innocent people…"

Wanda smiled a little ruefully. "Snap. The Avengers," she waved a hand behind her vaguely, "they're pretty big on second chances."

Brock hesitated, glanced at Barton. "I see you with Barton, there's a man that _earned_ his second chance. He deserves you, not me…"

Barton laughed. Slipped his free arm around the waist of the white-haired man. "No, thanks, Rumlow. I got the twin I wanted."

"He's Pietro's soulmate, not mine," Wanda said, a true smile on her face. "_You're_ mine. I've been waiting for you.

Brock hesitated only a moment longer before slipping his arms around Wanda's slender waist and bending his head. She reached eagerly up to slide her arms around his neck, soft lips parting as he brought his head down to hers. Their mouths met softly at first, then with increasing passion.

"Ech," Pietro turned his face away. "I didn't see that coming."

**1531 words (couldn't write such a complicated plot in less).**

**And YES, the entire fic was set up for Pietro to deliver that line. I'm still swooning about his accent from the new trailer for AoU. If you haven't seen it yet, go to Youtube and look for Age of Ultron TV Spot 2.**

**Incidentally, if you were wondering, the 'other thing' Wanda gave Rumlow was the probability that he would choose to reject HYDRA. We know she's not above manipulating people for her own ends. She didn't know he was her soulmate, of course, she just wanted to get back at HYDRA then. It kind of worked out in both their favour.**


	115. Didn't See That Coming (Clint & Pietro)

**Didn't See That Coming**

_Clint/Pietro_

QuickHawk or maybe HawkSilver… or if you're going for comedy value, Pint. Or possibly Clitro, which sounds filthy…

**Theme song:**

**Avicii – Hey Brother**

**And yes, following a surprising amount of begging and pleading, this is the companion fic to the Rumlow/Wanda chapter, **_**Babe With The Voodoo**_**. Couldn't resist incorporating the little bits of Pietro and Clint speaking from the latest AoU trailer, either.**

He _missed_.

He _never_ missed. And certainly not a straight shot at about seventy yards. There'd been nothing wrong with the arrow, the draw was perfect, the release easy and natural – the arrow should have skewered the dark-haired girl right through the heart. And it had been on its way to do just that when it passed through the red glow around her hands, made a completely impossible 90-degree turn, and buried itself in a nearby tree.

"What the fu…" Clint stared incredulously, and then a blue-grey blur hit him hard, sending him spinning from his feet and crashing to his back in the snow, landing painfully on his quiver – _ouch_, that always fucking happened! Good thing Stark had reinforced the body armour around his ribs or he'd have cracked ones again.

Still, it hurt. He let out a pained hiss of breath, squinting up into the wintry sky, seeing the face of a good-looking guy with silvery-white hair come into focus above him, pacing a circle around Clint's prone body.

"You didn't see that coming?" the guy asked with a smirk, his accent strongly Eastern European.

_Oh, fucking hell, seriously?_ Clint didn't say that aloud. What he actually said was; "No, and I bet you won't see this coming, either."

Blue eyes shot wide, and the guy stopped dead. Clint took the opportunity to sweep him off his feet – or would have, if the guy hadn't moved so fast it made Clint look like he was striking out in slow motion. He leapt easily over Clint's swinging legs, still staring at him.

"Pietro!" a frantic shout spun the guy around. The dark-haired girl was surrounded, Tony, Steve and Thor bracketing her, lightning sparking from Thor's swinging hammer.

Pietro swung back to Clint, an agonised look on his face. "Later," he rapped out, a husky promise, and then he was gone in a blur, sweeping the dark-haired girl away with him and vanishing into the forest.

"You all right?" Natasha came up beside Clint, offering a hand to help him up. He accepted it, realising there was a slightly goofy grin spreading across his face.

"I just met my soulmate."

"Ah, crap," there was only one person he could possibly be talking about. "You do realise they're not on our side, right?"

"I'm pretty good at getting people to change sides."

"You doofus," she whacked him gently around the back of the head before running off to check on Bruce.

The next time Clint saw his soulmate was when he ran across the pair in the utter clusterfuck that was Milan. Crashing into a church – through the roof – he'd likely have been killed if the two of them hadn't somehow slowed and broken his fall. It still hurt. He lay on the floor gasping for a moment.

"You seem to have a habit of ending up flat on your back," Pietro said with some amusement.

"Thanks," Clint coughed, struggling to his feet. Looking at the pair of them. "I take it you two have seen the light?"

Pietro stood still and silent.

"Ending the human race doesn't seem like such a great plan, actually," the girl said finally.

"I'm Clint Barton, also known as Hawkeye…"

"We know who you are," Pietro said quietly.

"Then you know I'm with the Avengers." He looked at the pair of them, the light falling across his eyes. "We could use a pair with your abilities. And since you're my soulmate – I'm telling you now that I'm dedicated to the Avengers. It's my whole life now."

Pietro didn't hesitate. He'd been waiting so long. He'd never dared to hope that his soulmate would be a man worth following, but he truly was. "I'm with you. Wanda?"

She hesitated, her dark gaze turned inwards.

"I'm going out there to join the fight. Come with me or not, it's your choice." Clint looked at both of them. "But know one thing. If you step out that door, you're an Avenger."

They were both close behind him as he strode to the door and flung it open.

Three times during the fight he ran out of arrows. And three times Pietro blurred up, dropped a handful of reclaimed shafts in front of him, and was gone again. Fighting back to back with Wanda, Clint couldn't keep the goofy grin off his face.

"Don't you dare break his heart," Wanda said during a momentary break in the fighting.

"Much more likely to be the other way round, I promise you. Now I've found my soulmate, I'm not going to do anything to jeopardise things." Clint hesitated, looked sideways at her. "What exactly is he to you?"

"Oh!" Wanda laughed suddenly. "My twin. I know, we don't look anything alike."

"Oh, phew! I wasn't sure I could compete with a woman, if that was what he preferred…"

"It's not," that was Pietro, blurring back up to them. Clint grinned at him, light-headed with relief – and exhaustion. Snapped his bow up and shot down yet another attack robot. _How many of the damn things had Ultron made_?

"I'm really glad to hear that." They smiled at each other. Behind Clint, Wanda sighed and turned her back.

"Just kiss already and get it over with. I'll cover your asses for _one minute_."

"We should probably do as she says. I usually end up doing as she says anyway," Pietro said ruefully.

"Yeah, I know a woman like that." Clint grinned. "Not that I'm averse to following her orders on this occasion…"

Clint never even saw Pietro move, but suddenly there was a heated mouth pressing against his, stubble scraping his chin. Hands full, he couldn't hold onto the speedster, but he pressed against him eagerly as strong arms slid around his waist, moaned into that hot mouth.

"Later," Pietro promised breathlessly a minute later when Wanda coughed pointedly.

"You keep saying that. This time I'm holding you it."

"You can hold me to anything you like."

"Oh, get a room!"

**999 words.**

**I seem to be getting angsty all the time when I write the twins. I guess all we really know about them is they have the typical shitty superhero background, we haven't seen their humour or personalities yet. **

**If you didn't see it yet, I was inspired by that dreamy accent of Pietro's in the newest TV trailer to write a fic where he meets Darcy and she discovers that she has a SERIOUS weakness for his accent. It's called **_**That Accent Is Definitely A Superpower**_** and while currently a one-shot, there may be two (or three) more chapters to come eventually.**


	116. Genie Out Of Bottle (Jemma & Thor)

**Genie Out Of Bottle**

_Jemma/Thor_

BioHammer?

**Theme song:**

**Fall Out Boy – Centuries**

Note: Contains SPOILERS for S02E12.

"Thor, there were enough Diviners in that case to make an _army_," Sif's eyes were still dark with the horror of it. "The maiden known as Skye, she is but one, and her heart is true or the Son of Coul would not be so willing to defend her. But what of the others?"

"I must go to Midgard again myself, address the matter," Thor sighed, gripped Mjolnir more tightly. "Thank you, Sif. For the information and for your work in tracking down the Kree."

The shrilling alarms at the Playground were frequent enough that Jemma didn't actually look up from her microscope. They shut off just as suddenly as they'd started, but the babble of voices that followed was unusual enough to make her look up.

"Jemma!" Fitz burst into the lab. "P-problem."

And of course it was _her_ problem. Since she was the most senior agent on site, everyone else currently out mopping up stragglers after the previous week's HYDRA raids. Jemma sighed and stood up. "What's the problem, Fitz?"

A huge figure appeared behind him in the doorway. Jemma's mouth dropped open as she stared up – and up – at the God of Thunder.

"Thor," Fitz said unnecessarily.

"Oh. My. God."

"Just Asgardian," he boomed, cracking a smile as he moved past Fitz and came towards her. "You are the Doctor Jemma? Sif has told me of your research into those affected by the Terrigenesis."

"The wh-?" was all she managed to get out before he reached out and took her hand in his, lifting it towards his mouth as he bowed, obviously intending to kiss it.

Fitz, watching, startled back in horror as Jemma let out a squeal of pain. Thor grunted as though he'd been hit, and then turned her hand in his, both of them staring in astonishment at the marks appearing.

"What _is_ that?" Jemma gasped, staring at the runelike writing on her hand.

"This," Thor traced gentle fingers over her palm, "is my name – and my title. Do you understand what this means?"

She shook her head in utter bemusement, staring up at him.

"I had not thought it possible, had thought that humans were not yet evolved enough to be our equals," he murmured, reaching out his other hand and touching her hair lightly. "How remarkable you must be. It is a soulmark, Jemma. See, here upon my hand is your name."

_Jemma Simmons_, the words said, in her clear, precise script. She stared in open-mouthed shock.

"You don't have words like humans do, of the things that people first say to each other?"

Thor shook his golden head. "No, that is a human thing. Different races have different ways to find their soulmates. It must be easier for humans; for Asgardians the marks are triggered by touch. We are marked with our mates' sign in the first place where skin meet skin."

"You're saying that I am your…?" It was completely incomprehensible to Jemma as she stared up at the beautiful blond god.

"My soulmate. The other half of me, the one I have been searching for all these long, lonely centuries. My mother told me that my beloved would be a woman of science, and now I have found you – I will never let you go, my heart."

"Oh," she gulped in surprise. And heard the quiet click of Fitz closing the door, leaving her alone with her soulmate.

The six foot five gorgeous blond god. Alien!

"I," she swallowed, trying to get some moisture into her mouth, "I've – not been entirely happy about aliens being on earth. We lost a friend in the alien city and I think that what happened to Skye and Raina was horrible…"

"As do I."

Jemma blinked. Thor sighed. "Asgardians were banned from interacting with Midgard centuries ago. My father felt that humanity needed to develop at their own pace. Regrettably, it seems that we failed to realise that the Kree had _already_ interfered. It is our mistake, Jemma. It will be our task to remedy it, no matter the price we must pay. But the remedy will not involve culling the innocent, that I promise you."

"You – might be able to cure Skye?"

"There is no going back once one has passed through the mists," he shook his head. "But we can help her. We _will_ help her."

Jemma found tears welling in her eyes at his sincerity. "We were so close," she almost choked out. "She was like my sister. Only then everything went wrong and I don't know what to _do_…"

"Shh," powerful arms closed around her and she was drawn to lean on him, her head against his chest, one massive hand stroking over her hair. "It's all right, Jemma. You've got someone to lean on, now."

It had been so long since Jemma had felt safe, had felt close enough to someone to allow them close enough even for a hug. She clung to Thor as though drowning, the tears running down her cheeks as she finally let go. She was barely aware when he lifted her up, cradling her in his arms, carrying her with him to a chair and settling down to hold her close.

"You don't have to carry this burden alone any more, my dearest," he murmured against her hair. "I'm here now."

"I'm scared," she confessed finally, hiding her face against his chest.

"We all have fears, Jemma. It is how we face them that matters."

"You're right. I've been trying to push back the tide, haven't I?"

Thor smiled as she took a deep breath and bravely admitted the truth. "_Put the genie back in the bottle_, is the phrase I think the Man of Iron used. What's done can't be undone. But we can find a way through, I am confident." Gently, he put two fingers under her chin, tipped her face up to make her look at him. "Together."

Jemma smiled tremulously, just before he leaned in and kissed her softly.

**1,000 words exactly.**

**I'm just hoping that what I think's happing on AoS, isn't happening. Because what I think is happening is that the 'two SHIELDs' are going to form the two sides leading up to Civil War. And I can see Jemma's fear (because that's clearly what's diving her current reactions, fear) putting her on the 'wrong' side. Thor, I'm certain, could make her see the light, though ;)**


	117. Punctuation Problems (Pyro,Iceman&Jemma)

**Punctuation Problems**

_Pyro/Iceman/Jemma_

Flaming Frosty Science?

**Theme song:**

**Saving Abel - Addicted**

**Because who wouldn't want to be sandwiched between those two fine hunks of X-Man? And OBVIOUSLY they bicker all the time because they're soulmates without their third…**

"Jemma, it won't work on Skye. She's not X-gene positive," May told her gently.

"But it's worth a _try_! She doesn't want to be like this, Agent May. She _begged_ me to help her." Jemma's hazel eyes were bright with tears. "At least we could _ask_."

May and Coulson looked at each other. Finally, Coulson nodded. "If Skye wants it. I'll make the call. The Professor will make the final decision, though."

Professor Xavier sent down some of his people with a dose of the 'cure' the following day. A tall, beautiful redhead, a dark-haired man with a visor over his eyes, and two solidly muscled blond men who Jemma did _not_ make the mistake of thinking were just there to provide protection. The redhead went in to talk to Skye privately, the visored man took up station outside the door, and the two blonds looked around.

One of them spied her and grinned. Slightly the taller of the two, he had floppy dark blond hair and a rather wicked tilt to his grin. Slipping one hand into the pocket of his leather jacket – and really, Jemma wasn't admiring the way the leather clung to his shoulders, definitely not – he started walking towards her, a sleek, dangerous stride.

"_John_," the other, slightly shorter blond said warningly. His hair was shorter and spikier, more of a platinum blond really. And he too had very nice shoulders – Jemma tore her gaze away and gave 'John' a wary glance as he paused by her lab bench.

"Please don't touch anything, those are _very_ delicate instruments," she said.

Blue eyes widened with shock. Instead of replying, John turned to give the other blond an expressive look. "You're gonna want to get over here, Elsa," he said cheerfully.

"Don't you fucking dare start, not now!"

"Oh, let it go."

Jemma blinked. "Some sort of Frozen joke?" she said in bemusement to the shorter blond as he arrived in front of her too.

"Now look what you've done," he groused to John. And then he turned to look at Jemma – he was a couple of inches shorter than John, maybe five foot eight, but she still had to look up to meet his eyes. Blue too, she noticed. "Well, this is a _slightly_ odd situation for us to meet," he said.

Jemma took a step back, bumping into the lab bench. "_What?_" she gasped out. "But – you can't be – you're a mutant…" and then she thought about her other soulmark. "You too?" she turned to John, eyes wide.

"You're anti-mutant?" John's lips pursed.

Jemma blinked several times. "I – wish soulmarks came with punctuation?" was all she could think of to say.

"Oh," John obviously thought about what he just said. And then he sighed, pulled a Zippo lighter out of his pocket and began flipping it open and closed. "Damn, fucked that up, didn't I?"

"You fucking idiot! I'm Bobby Drake, by the way. And this is John Allerdyce."

"Jemma Simmons," she automatically put out her hand to shake his, and he surprised her by gallantly lifting it to his lips.

"I realise that John screwed up our chances a long time ago by making you more likely to be anti-mutant," Bobby said with a wry twist of his lips, "but I'm hoping you'll give us a chance to change your mind? Because the pair of us fight like cat and dog, we desperately need our third – need _you_."

Jemma looked from one to the other of them. Her soulmates. Two utterly gorgeous guys. Bobby still holding her hand, smiling at her, John leaning against the bench with his shoulders hunched defensively, flicking the Zippo faster.

"Well," she said slowly, "you see, the thing is, I've always known that particular soulmark was open to interpretation. Because soulmarks _don't_ have punctuation. So really, I just made it my mission to read up as much as I could about both the pro- and anti-mutant point of view."

The Zippo stilled. John stared at her with dawning hope. Bobby's fingers tightened on hers.

"And – while I understand the fear some people have of mutants, because you really are very frightening to us mere mortals – I _do_ know that as long as you're on my side – then I'm on _yours_." Jemma smiled shyly.

The Zippo snapped shut and John dropped it back into his pocket. He stepped forward and lifted a hand to touch her cheek. It was very slightly shaking, Jemma noted distantly, but very warm as his fingertips brushed lightly over her skin.

"That's good, beautiful," he said, and she noticed for the first time that he had an accent. Australian, she thought. "Because you don't have anything to fear from us. Not ever."

"Never," Bobby agreed, stepping in closer, and then she was sandwiched in between them, one of them on either side of her. John was the one who leaned in for the first kiss as Bobby's arm curled around her, John's mouth hot and hungry over hers.

"Ummm," Jemma sighed, a little scatterbrained when John finally let go, and then Bobby was bending his head for his turn, his lips cool after John's hotter touch, tongue licking delicately into her mouth, exploring her gently.

"Well," Jemma mumbled a couple of minutes later, leaning her head against John's chest as he stroked her hair, Bobby pressing kisses down her neck, "I think you two have definitely convinced me over to your side of the argument."

"That's good," John murmured softly. "Although I can't wait to get you out of here so I can convince you some more."

Bobby laughed against her throat, and Jemma shivered. Bobby straightened up instantly. "Shit, did I give you freezer-burn?"

"No?" she blinked up at him. "Ah," she realised something. "That's why he called you Elsa…"

"Ice," Bobby held out his hand, ice crystals forming over it instantly as he concentrated. "Iceman, is my code name."

"And I'm Pyro," John murmured into her hair.

"Fire and Ice…"

"And all yours."

**999 words.**

**And there will be a Part Two of this one in the next chapter, when Skye meets with Jean and Scott…**

**I got asked about punctuation in soulmarks and what effect its absence or presence might have on interpretation. This was one of the things that came to mind.**

**I'm thinking about rebooting the ****Poll ****again in the next few days. So if you didn't check it out lately, have a look and see if there's any other partnerships/triads you'd like to see me write, and send me a message or review to let me know. Note: I won't be writing Daredevil characters or Scott Lang (Ant-Man) until after I've seen the respective shows/movie!**  
><strong>Usual rules apply - the people need to have APPEARED on screen in the MCUX-Men but not spoken to each other (touched if one is Asgardian). **


	118. We Could Fix That (Cyclops&Skye&Jean)

**We Could Fix That**

_Skye/Jean Grey/Scott Summers_

Quake, Phoenix and Cyclops – if you can come up with a way to mash that together to make a decent ship name, you're smarter than I am!

[EDIT: shoeychocolatXD just suggested GreySummerSkye. PERFECT!]

**Theme song:**

**Savage Garden – Truly Madly Deeply**

**So this is the companion piece to the previous Short, Jemma/Pyro/Iceman, and is occurring at the same time.**

Skye looked up as the door slid open. A tall, beautiful redhead entered, tilting her head and smiling at Skye kindly.

"Hi. How are you feeling?"

Skye tried not to get her hopes up. It wasn't the first time she'd been asked that question by someone she'd never met before. It was definitely the most gorgeous person to ever say that to her, though. She took a deep breath, tried to keep her emotions on an even keel.

"I'm okay. Things seem to be looking up."

Bright green eyes widened, and the redhead sat down rather abruptly on the only chair in Skye's small room.

"Hi," Skye said rather shyly, "I'm Skye and I think I might be your soulmate?"

"Yes," the redhead said, shaking her head slowly. "Well, I really didn't expect that. Goodness me. I'm Jean Grey, Skye – Skye what?"

She shook her head too. "Just Skye. I'm an orphan – um – kind of. I don't have a last name I'd care to acknowledge, anyway."

"I see."

Those green eyes were uncomfortably all-knowing. Skye shifted slightly around. Sitting on her bed, she felt at a bit of a disadvantage. "So I'm guessing you're here because of this cure thing?"

"I don't think it will work on you. But if you wish to try it, yes, I will give you a dose." Jean slipped a slim metal case out of her pocket. Held it out to Skye.

Hesitantly, Skye accepted the case and opened it to reveal a slim metal syringe. "Why don't you think it will work on me?"

Jean smiled, crossed slender legs elegantly. "You aren't the first person without an X-gene to develop supernormal abilities, Skye. Others have come to us for help. Some of them have asked for the cure, and after talking with them to be sure they knew what they were doing, to ensure that they were making the decision for the right reasons, we gave them a dose. It didn't work." She hesitated, seemed to come to a decision. "I believe you may have known one of them. Her name is Raina?"

Skye flinched. Jean, seeing it, nodded. "That said, you may still try. If you wish."

Skye closed the case and handed it back. "I don't see any point. If it didn't work on Raina, it won't work on me."

"I daresay not," Jean agreed, still gazing at Skye. "That said, there are other ways we can help you, Skye. Some of the others I brought with me have elemental powers similar to those you have developed. They have learned control, with time and practice."

"What's your ability?" Skye almost whispered.

"I am telepathic and telekinetic. Because of my gift, I can alleviate emotional distress while people seek to gain control of powers linked to emotions. I can help you, Skye." Jean reached out, touched her fingers lightly, green eyes understanding. "I'm your soulmate, too. I can understand you as nobody else can. Help you get a handle on these powers."

Jean's very touch was so soothing, making Skye feel as though all the accumulated tension was draining out of her. She turned her hand over, laced her fingers with Jean's. "I'd really like that," she smiled, then hesitated. "Do you…"

"Know who our third is?" Jean smiled when Skye's eyes widened. "Sorry. Touching you like this, it's almost impossible not to read at least the surface thoughts in your mind. Oh!" A blush touched her pale cheeks. "_That's_ going to have to wait."

"Yikes!" Skye pulled her hand free, blushing herself. "Sorry. You're – really beautiful."

"Likewise," Jean pressed her fingers to her pink cheeks, smiling shyly. "Scott's going to be _very_ happy."

"Scott?" Skye twitched.

"Oh – sorry! I forgot to tell you, oh dear. Yes, I do know who our third is." Jean lowered her hands to her lap. "His name is Scott, Scott Summers. We're together, have been for years – we're engaged, officially. But we made a decision that we wouldn't formalise anything until we'd met our third. Until we'd found you."

"Right," Skye took a deep breath. "What's he like?" she asked shyly. "I – have had some really terrible relationships with men."

"Scott?" Jean smiled softly, lovingly. "He's the best man I've ever known. Possessive of me, and I don't doubt he will be of you too, it's probably his worst trait. But he's kind, he's strong, he's confident. He deals with a mutation that's not easy by any means."

Skye looked a question, and Jean sighed. "His eyes. Scott's code name is Cyclops, which is a little misleading. His eyes emit a concussive force – a bit like a powerful laser – and he can't turn it off, so he has to wear a special visor or sunglasses, with ruby-quartz lenses, at all times. Despite that," she smiled again, "he's a handsome man. A very handsome man. Would you like to meet him?"

"He's here?" Skye couldn't help her instinctive tension. Jean reached out instantly, placed her hand over Skye's again.

"It's all right. I won't let anyone hurt you. And you don't have to meet him until you're ready. But we've both been looking for you for a long time."

Jean's hand felt so good on hers. Felt like a pressure valve releasing the tension, the pain, that Skye had been living with since Puerto Rico. She clutched at it like a lifeline. "Stay with me?"

"Always," Jean moved to sit beside her on the bed. Put her arm around Skye and let her lean on the taller woman's shoulder.

After a long moment they turned their heads in perfect synchronisation. Kissed, soft and gentle at first, and then getting a little more heated. After a few minutes Jean pulled her head back, smiling.

"Scott will _definitely_ be annoyed he didn't get to see that."

That made Skye giggle. "Would he like the show?"

"You kidding?" Jean grinned. "You're gorgeous, and without false modesty, I know I haven't exactly been beaten by the ugly stick. He'll be the envy of every guy on the team."

Skye reached up to touch gentle fingers to her cheek. "You're stunning, Jean. Beautiful. I feel very lucky."

They kissed again, long and slow, and then Skye snuggled against Jean's shoulder. "I'd like to meet him. If you'll stay with me."

"Of course. Let me go talk to him first."

Skye nodded. Reluctantly let go of Jean's hand, drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them nervously while she waited.

Jean was back less than a minute later, accompanied by a tall, dark-haired man with high cheekbones and his eyes obscured by red-tinted dark glasses. And oh, goodness, Skye had to take a deep breath, because even with his eyes hidden he was _really_ attractive, especially with that hopeful smile curving his mouth.

"This is Scott, Skye," Jean introduced, sitting back down by Skye and taking her hand, tracing soothing circles on the back of it. "Skye doesn't have a last name, Scott…"

"We could fix that," Scott murmured. Saw Skye crack a smile as he spoke. "Grey-Summers would sound pretty good for all three of us."

"Oh!" Skye blinked. "That does sound pretty good."

Scott knelt beside the bed. Held out his hand. Shyly, Skye put her hand into it, realising that he was going to be difficult to read, considering that she couldn't see his eyes. His body language, though, was open and welcoming.

"I am very pleased to meet you, Skye," Scott said quietly, gently, recognising her obvious tension and nerves. But pleased by the way she already leaned trustingly into Jean's welcoming touch. "Look at you; you're gorgeous! Damn, I'm going to have to be fending Logan off both my girls," he shared a private smile with Jean, who chuckled.

"I don't doubt that Skye will be just as capable of fending him off as I am, Scott. She doesn't need anyone to be her champion." Jean squeezed Skye's shoulder.

"Too right," Skye said, "the last guy who tried to pressure me into something I didn't want to do, I shot him four times in the side."

She felt Jean tense beside her, obviously reading the surface thoughts about Ward floating up to the surface of her mind. But Scott only squeezed her hand lightly. "Good. I like to know that my ladies can take care of themselves. Not that I won't slay your dragons for if you want me to."

Skye couldn't help but smile at his calm, assured manner. Impulsively, she leaned forward, placed her free hand on his smooth-shaven cheek and kissed him lightly.

Scott made a pleased sound against her mouth, licked his lips as she drew back. "Mm. Now I'm _really_ looking forward to the three of us getting some alone time."

That made Skye chuckle, but she sobered quickly. "Since the cure won't work on me – you said you could help me learn control?" she looked at Jean.

"Yes – we brought two of our elementally powered colleagues with us," Jean agreed.

Scott snorted. "Good luck with that. John and Bobby just found their third. You'll be lucky to get any sense out of them for days."

"What – who?" Skye blinked, her thoughts immediately flashing to the only other SHIELD team member who she knew had two soulmarks. "_Jemma?_"

"Pretty girl, about so tall, English accent?" Scott queried.

"Yeah – wow. Jemma is soulmates with two mutants?"

Jean grinned. "Two very strong mutants," she put in. "They're both on our response team. Elemental mutants are very powerful, Skye. It's why you're so important. These tremors you create, you have the potential to become very powerful indeed once you learn to control them properly."

"Fitz said I might have Avenger-level powers, one day," Skye almost whispered it.

Scott shrugged. "Sure. But considering who your soulmates are, I'd hope you'd want to join _our_ team, rather than Stark's bunch of misfits."

Skye had to giggle as he arrogantly called the Avengers 'a bunch of misfits'. And then she stood up, smiling at both of them. "Well, are you going to introduce me to these friends of yours, then? Preferably before they get so distracted by Jemma they can't help me."

"Too late," Scott murmured as the door slid open.

Skye's eyes widened, and she couldn't help but blush. Because while all three were still fully dressed, the two solidly built blonds were all over Jemma like a rash, and she was more than obviously welcoming their attentions.

Jean stepped forward, frowning slightly, and Skye realised she must have delivered some sort of psychic 'slap' as the two blond men jerked back from Jemma.

"_Jean_," the taller of the two whined. "She's our soulmate; butt out!"

"She's _our_ soulmate," Jean retorted, pointing at Skye, "and you don't see us all over her where anyone could walk in, John!"

Jemma pulled away from Bobby and ran to Skye, reaching to wrap her arms around her in a hug. "Oh _Skye_, you found your soulmates, how wonderful, I'm so _happy_ for you!"

It was the happiest Skye had seen Jemma in so long, and she truly did look happy for Skye. Relieved beyond measure, Skye hugged her in return. "And you found yours," she said.

"I know," Jemma pulled back, looked a bit sheepish and then laughed. "They're really not what I expected. But I'm certainly not complaining."

"That's good, because you don't get to be without us now," both of them had followed Jemma as though tethered to her by invisible cords, Skye realised, and grinned as they both held out hands to be introduced. She could already tell she was going to like them. John had a wicked smirk and Bobby a glint in his eye that spoke of mischief.

"So," Skye said, "who gets to break the good news to DC?"

**1965 words.**

**And it had to be that long because I wanted her to talk to Jean first.**

**Poor old Phil, though…**


	119. We Can Try (Natasha & Heimdall)

**We Can Try**

_Natasha/Heimdall_

BlackGuardian

**Theme Song:**

**Pink Floyd – Wish You Were Here**

"I seek Prince Thor."

Natasha would forever afterwards maintain that she did _not_ leap up in the air and scream. It had, after all, been a really long time since anyone had actually been able to sneak up on her. Despite Clint's best efforts.

She recovered mid-air, bounced off the wall, backflipped and came up in a fighting stance. And looked up, and up, and _up_, at the golden-eyed, golden-armoured giant standing in the middle of the kitchen.

"Where the _hell_ did you come from?"

A dark eyebrow raised behind the open visor of his helmet. "You are the Lady Natasha, are you not? I am Heimdall, the Guardian. I seek Prince Thor."

"I thought you were the one who could see everything?" she said argumentatively, still off-balance from the fact that he'd managed to sneak up on her.

"Only from the Bifrost chamber, my lady," he bowed to her slightly. "I saw him last in this location. I surmise he cannot be too far away?"

Thor came striding in at that very moment. "Heimdall! What brings you here?"

They were gone within minutes, headed for Asgard. Heimdall and Natasha didn't speak again, but before he left, he looked at her from those amazing golden eyes and inclined his head. She found herself nodding, and was surprised by his slight smile.

_That's a very attractive man. Demi-god. Asgardian. Whatever he is._

It had been so long that Natasha had actually been attracted to someone that it took her a while to identify the feeling.

"I am ready to return, Heimdall!" Thor strode into the Bifrost chamber, clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Yes," the Guardian said distractedly. He was gazing out of the window into the cosmos. "Yes, I will send you back, my prince. I – did not previously understand why you wished to remain among them, but – Midgardians are fascinating, are they not?"

"They are indeed, my friend." Thor eyed Heimdall for a moment. "Especially their women."

The way Heimdall twitched and jerked his eyes away from the window told Thor what he wanted to know.

"Aha!" he boomed. "So it _is_ some fair Midgardian maid who has caught your eye!"

"Enough, Thor!" Heimdall gave him a quelling glare. "Even if that were true, nothing could come of it. My place, my task is here."

"You're not the only Guardian. And you deserve a break. Why not come to Earth with me, visit with the Avengers? I know Father asks you about them. Come and get to _know_ them, interact with them as well as observe from afar."

Thor was surprised when Heimdall actually turned up at the Tower a few weeks later, though, dressed in clothes that could pass on Earth – although the dark leather coat and pants on his tall, powerful form had a lot of women falling over their feet staring.

Natasha told herself sternly that she _wasn't_ going to stare like a silly girl with a crush as Thor introduced his friend to them all.

"And this is the Lady Natasha Romanoff," Thor introduced, and she gave him a glare. Really, she'd thought he would have learned to drop the _Lady_ by now. "Known as the Black Widow."

"We did meet before," Natasha murmured.

"Indeed, milady. Though we were not formally introduced." Heimdall held out a large hand, the fingers curved slightly upwards. Natasha knew the gesture; he intended to kiss her hand. She suppressed the childish urge to put her own hands behind her back. Slowly, she extended her hand. His much larger hand curved under it, their fingertips met…

She did not scream at the pain. The Red Room had long ago trained that reflex out of her. The only sign she gave was a small hiss of indrawn breath. Heimdall made a greater noise, an exclamation of "Odin's eye!" and then his other hand came up to press hers between them, his golden eyes wide as he stared down at her.

Thor, recognising what had happened, swiftly hustled everyone else out, leaving the two of them alone, Natasha staring up at Heimdall.

He had watched her from afar for long enough to know that any emotion she showed him would not be the truth. So he simply asked quietly;

"Do you know what this means?" showing her the runes etched across his fingertips.

Natasha nodded slowly. "I don't see _why_, though. I don't – I never wanted a soulmate. I'm a solitary creature at heart."

"As am I. But sometimes those who prefer to spend their time alone – sometimes even we can become lonely, can we not?"

He had been lonely for a great many more years than she, Natasha suddenly realised. Had been waiting for her, for literally _millennia_. "I cannot – _will not_ – abandon the other Avengers," she told him, even as her fingers curled around his. "And I know Odin will not spare you from Asgard for long."

"Indeed. Stolen moments may be all that we will ever have." Heimdall's mouth curved in a slight smile. "I would hope, though, that you will come to me when you can. All you need do is call, and I will answer. I will watch over you always, milady."

Natasha hesitated. "You understand, part of what I do…" she could hardly bear to think of it, with her soulmate here before her. All those she had seduced in the past, all those yet to come, because it was part of her very specific skill set, and she would never abandon a weapon so powerful.

"I understand." A hand raised gently, moved towards her cheek as though to cup it. "There is nothing to forgive, milady. 'Tis your weapon in the war you must fight." His mouth quirked up. "I cannot say that I will like it. But I swear that I will never reproach you or think the less of you, for what you must do."

She tilted her cheek into his touch, then. Closed her eyes. Let him caress her face, her hair, with astonishing gentleness. "I don't know how to love."

"Nor I. For a thousand years, I have known only duty. Perhaps – we can learn together?"

Natasha opened her eyes. Looked up at him, at the sincere, honest expression on that handsome face. "We can try."

**1048 words.**

**And… I didn't want to cut any of them. The Natasha I see in this version probably thinks of herself as almost asexual, sex for her is just a weapon she uses to get what she needs, and Heimdall is viewed as virtually sexless by the women of Asgard in my headcanon. He's the Guardian, not a **_**man**_** as such in their eyes, and quite probably has come to think of himself as near-asexual too. I think it would take a long time for them to have any sort of physical relationship together.**

**That said, it's nice to think of Nat, tired and heartsick, just calling for Heimdall to come and take her away from it all and he sweeps her away up the Bifrost into his arms…**

**Now, BIG NEWS!**

**The Poll has been reloaded! I've listened to asks, and looked at stuff that was already on there that just wasn't inspiring or didn't have much interest. There are 100 options (the maximum I can put on). Any further asks I get will be put on the reserve list I am keeping and added to the poll (in order received) as space opens up – that is, as pairings get written.**

**Now I'm not making any promises about writing anything. Especially as my house is going to auction in 3 weeks and, if it sells, I will have to move a month after that so I am going to be A BIT BUSY (hopefully). That said, I always work from the top of the poll down, so whatever gets the most votes is the most likely to get written. You get 10 votes. Make them count!**

**And can I just say how awed and impressed I am that over FIVE HUNDRED (523, when I shut it down) people cared enough about this series to vote in round 3 of the Poll? You guys ROCK!**

**You're also welcome to come and annoy me about ships over on Tumblr, I'm ozhawkauthor… send me manips, pics, inspiration snippets or just come and chat about the MCU, we can be crazed fans together!**

**In addition, I've been considering a sort of companion fic to the Shorts which would in essence, just be the follow-up one-shot smut scenes to some of the Shorts (specifically, those without continuations). Now is where I need feedback from you guys – would you rather see these scenes than new Shorts? I don't have time to write both. Not to say that I **_**won't**_** write new Shorts, but they may get less frequent… and if you WOULD rather see the smut scenes, which ones in particular would you like to see? Let me know by leaving a comment here – or over on Tumblr!**


	120. Shoot Me Now (Rumlow & Hunter)

**Shoot Me Now**

_Hunter/Rumlow_

RumHunter. Which describes me on a Saturday night quite well, actually…

**Theme song:**

**The White Stripes – Seven Nation Army **

Dedicated to islndgurl777 on tumblr, who came up with the idea for the soulmark Rumlow has in this one – because it's such a Hunter thing to say! In this AU, Hunter gave up on SHIELD after Bobbi's betrayal and the revelation of the two SHIELDS, and went back to being a mercenary.

"Shoot me now," Hunter muttered under his breath as the roomful of mercenaries listened to the fucking _dumbass_ plan the suit at the front was attempting to convince them _wouldn't_ get them all killed. "It'd be less fucking painful."

The man beside him twitched, and then turned to give him a stare. Hunter looked back, gave him a grin and an appreciative stare, because _damn_ but the guy was _hot_. A little taller than Hunter, probably a few years older, he had black hair and eyes the colour of expensive whisky, olive skin and magnificent cheekbones. A few nasty burn scars running down his left cheek onto his neck didn't diminish the good looks, only made him more ruggedly attractive – in fact, Hunter started wondering how far down the scars ran. Whether the scarred skin was especially sensitive. _His_ scars certainly were.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then the black-haired man's lips twitched in an unwilling smile before he looked away.

Hunter couldn't resist a few more snide comments under his breath during the half-assed briefing. Saw his neighbour's mouth twitch as though he was holding in a laugh when Hunter remarked that Luna Lovegood could have come up with a saner plan than this one. The whisky eyes flickered over to him a time or two, gleaming like he shared Hunter's opinion, and Hunter thought very strongly about asking the guy out for a drink. Even if drinks was all that was on the menu.

The briefing ended, and Hunter watched as several other mercs gathered quickly around the black-haired man, looking to him for leadership. _Ah. Leader of a company_, he realised a bit ruefully. Not a solo operator like Hunter himself was, these days. _Well, he ain't gonna be lacking for company. Looks like I'll be drinking alone again_.

He was walking back towards the ramshackle motel that was serving as a base while they prepared to go in and take out the tinpot third-world dictator the CIA were pretending they supported even as they hired mercs to do their dirty work, when someone fell into step beside him. Hunter glanced across and met those whisky eyes. Something warm coiled in the pit of his stomach.

"So, that was shite. I'm sure you've already come up with a better plan. Hope you'll forgive me if I tag onto your crew, because I'm guessing you're not going to throw their lives away needlessly and I'd rather not die in an African hellhole just yet."

_You're babbling. Shut up, Hunter…_

And then Tall Dark and Sexy spoke, and Hunter nearly fell over.

"I'd rather you didn't die anywhere for quite a while, actually."

It wasn't just his voice, a low, whisky-and-cigarettes rasp that could have made _anyone's_ knees go weak. It was the _words_.

A powerful hand closed on Hunter's forearm, steadying him as he tripped in shock and nearly face-planted on the dusty ground.

"_You_," was about all Hunter could think of to say.

White teeth flashed. "Me. Name's Brock Rumlow." The hand let go of his forearm, offered to shake. Hunter took it a little numbly. "You always suggest to strangers that they should shoot you?"

"Um. No. Just. I lack a brain filter, sometimes. Got a bad habit of undermining my bosses with black humour…"

They were almost at the motel, and in a moment Rumlow had him shoved up against the wall, chest to chest, those whisky eyes boring into his. "You ain't gonna undermine _me_, are you, Lance Hunter?"

He could barely breathe. Lust fogged his brain, but he was still the same snarky badass who Bobbi Morse had once fallen in love with. A twist of his body and he was out from between Rumlow and the wall, chest heaving. "You ain't my boss."

A slow smile curved Rumlow's mouth. "You sure about that? It's said soulmates are always sexually compatible. I know what _I_ like in bed."

"Taking orders in bed and taking them in the field are two very different things." _Shit, shit, shit_, Rumlow was _stalking_ him. Driving him into a corner. And he didn't _want_ to escape.

"You're not gonna come work for me, then?" They were chest to chest again. Powerful hands slid up his forearms, clamped on his biceps.

"Not a good idea to mix business and pleasure. I learned that lesson the hard way." _Did I ever_.

"I see." Rumlow studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly. "All right." He leaned in closer, his lips a scant inch from Hunter's, warm breath mingling. "Well then. Let's get the pleasure part out of the way before we have to go to work tomorrow, hmm?"

A whine escaped Hunter's throat and he sagged in Rumlow's grip. That hard mouth curved in a smile again and then he was being kissed about as thoroughly as he'd ever been kissed in his life.

He woke handcuffed to a sink again.

"Oh, fuck my life!"

There was a note thumbtacked to the wall beside his head.

_If you can't follow my orders in the field, I won't risk you. _

"You _asshole_!" Hunter shouted at Rumlow as the other man walked back into the dingy motel room late that night. "You could have at least left me something to eat!"

Rumlow grinned. "I brought pizza."

"Fuck off!"

"Listen," his hair wasn't long enough for Rumlow to grip, but a strong hand at the back of his neck made him go limp, "I _won't_ risk losing you. So choose. Either follow my orders in the field as well as you did in bed last night, or… we quit this game and find a less risky line of work."

"You'd do that for me?" Hunter whispered disbelievingly.

"In a hot minute."

They knelt, facing each other, in silence for a full minute. And then Hunter nodded.

"You're the boss."

"I'm glad you recognise that," Rumlow murmured, just before their lips met in another scorching kiss.

**998 words.**

**This could also be (okay, probably will be) a prelude to a triad. Maybe Hunter and Rumlow run across Darcy in the field somewhere – they might even be hired to kidnap her or Jane… or they run into Wanda and Pietro…**


	121. We're The Lucky Ones (SkyeDeadpoolLogan)

**We're The Lucky Ones**

_Deadpool/Logan/Skye_

DeadWolfQuake

**Theme song:**

**Marillion – No One Can**

**I laughed myself sick over the early Poll results. You are all perverts. After 24 hours there were 127 voters (wow) and the runaway leaders were the three M/M/F triads involving Skye; this one, Sam/Angel/Skye and Pyro/Iceman/Skye. That poor girl, why do you all want to see her get double-teamed so badly? LOL.**

_Logan and Deadpool's background: As in The Gambler, Deadpool is a lot older than he appears. He and Logan first met about 40 years ago, realised they were soulmates and started a relationship that is the very definition of unstable. They fuck, they fight, they try to kill each other (Logan probably succeeds), they break up. Every now and then, they run into each other and go through the whole cycle all over again. After many years of this, they've learned that the only way they can tolerate each other is the occasional booty call._

_That said, they both know that with their third, they'd be stable. And deep down, they both genuinely love each other and want that quite desperately. They've been searching for her ever since the night they were having a booty call and the words burned into their skin at the exact same moment…_

"Skye, get out _now_, they're coming for you! I'm sending someone to help – Bobbi and Mack are traitors and Hunter might be too, if you see any of them don't trust them…"

The line cut May off with a shocking suddenness. And Skye ran for the door. She'd never heard that tone of voice from May before, but she could guess only too well what it meant. _Now_ meant _yesterday_, and _get out_ meant _run for your life_.

She felt like she'd been running forever, ducking under trees, evading searchlights, panicking about the damned laser fences she knew were out here somewhere. What if she ran blindly into one in the dark? And then a familiar voice called her name.

"Skye? Skye, where are you?"

_Bobbi_. Skye froze. _Bobbi's a traitor_.

"Skye, I'm here to help you. Come on, rock star, I got some Cactus Coolers in the quinjet."

She didn't answer. Answering would pinpoint her location and probably earn her an ICER in the chest. Instead, she crouched down low, put her hands on the earth and took a few slow, deep breaths.

"What are you going to do?" an interested voice said by her ear.

Skye couldn't help the shocked scream. Or the undirected quake that rippled out from her fingertips.

"Whoah!" The guy who'd spoken toppled over backwards and rolled almost instantly to his feet again. "Neat trick, girlfriend!"

Skye stared at him. He was wearing a red and black skinsuit, his face fully covered. "Who the _fuck_ are you?"

His head cocked to one side. "Interesting… that'll have to wait. My name is Wade. I owe the Cavalry a favour. She told me to get you out of here – and she told me to tell you that her confirmation of identity phrase is Raspberry Ripple. Ice cream, I'm assuming. Yum. I like ice cream. Although I'm more of a Chunky Monkey kind of guy."

Right after Agent 33 had started wearing May's face, each member of the team had been required to set up confirmation of identity phrases with each other. But they were unique to each partnership, and had to be kept secret. Not even Coulson would know those words. Only May could have told them to Wade – and Skye trusted Melinda May with her life.

"Let's go," she said simply.

"I don't think so," Bobbi's voice said, much closer, and Skye whipped around to see the other woman pointing an ICER gun at her. "I don't know who you are," Bobbi said to Wade, "but stay out of this."

"Um," Wade pretended to think about it for a moment, "no."

And he stepped between Skye and Bobbi, in one smooth movement drawing two long, sharp swords that had been sheathed across his back.

"Katanas. They're katanas. Nobody ever gets it right."

"They won't save your ass from this," and Bobbi pulled the trigger.

Skye winced. And then gaped as Wade slashed the ICER round from the air, advanced on Bobbi way too fast to follow, and struck the batons from her hands even as she drew them. "Want me to kill her, girlfriend?" he called cheerfully to Skye.

"No!" it was an instinctive response. Because somehow Skye couldn't quite believe that Bobbi was HYDRA. Disloyal to SHIELD, perhaps – but not HYDRA.

"'Kay." He clubbed Bobbi across the back of the head with the hilt of a katana instead and she fell limply to the ground in front of Skye's shocked eyes. "Come on. We don't have much time."

He took her to a safehouse in Vancouver – they were in Canada, huh, she'd had no idea – and they tried to call May. Unable to reach her, Wade said they'd just have to wait for her to get in touch with them.

Skye sat down on the small, shabby couch, and stared at him. "So," she said after a moment, "who the hell are you really?"

He turned and slowly pulled off his mask. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but it wasn't the handsome, brown-eyed blond man with the slightly manic grin. And the words _Who the fuck are you?_ written curving up along his jawline in her scruffy handwriting.

"I believe," Wade said cheerfully, "that I'm your soulmate, sweetheart. One of them, anyway."

Skye's mouth hung open. Scrambling to her feet, she rushed over to him, reached shaking fingers up to touch his chin – he was about eight inches taller than her – turning his jaw and inspecting the words, rubbing her thumb over them.

"Where's my words on you, Skye?" he asked quietly.

"My shoulder," she said a bit numbly after a moment. "Back of my shoulder."

"Which side?"

"Left – oh." She blushed. The words were on the left side of his jaw. In order for the words to come into contact, for them to bond, he'd have to be behind her while they… "Do you know who our third is?"

The grin turned even more manic. "Oh yes, and Logan's gonna be soooo happy to meet you. I already texted him."

"You. _What?_ You didn't think about asking me first?"

"No?" he gave her a rather adorable-puppy look. "I assumed you'd want to meet him? Of course, he's an asshole and we fight all the time, or we always have, I mean last time we hooked up he stabbed me and it wasn't even an accident!"

"I'm… beginning to understand why he might have done that."

"Now, be nice," he grinned, and she realised at some point his arms had snaked around her waist. "I'm not so bad once you get to know me. Logan and I fight because we're unstable without you. We've been waiting a really long time for you, Skye."

He looked curiously vulnerable. He'd seemed so confident, so calm and steady when they were on the run. Skye's fingers traced over her words on his jaw again; she understood now why he covered his face. With a soulmark so visible, probably damn near everyone he met would have been unable to resist saying the words to him. "Where's your other mark?" she asked curiously.

Wade peeled off a glove and showed her the words on the palm of his right hand. _Oh, fucking hell_. "Apparently I inspire my soulmates to swear a lot."

Skye couldn't help but start to giggle.

"What's he like?" she asked quietly later, as she lay curled in Wade's arms. They hadn't bonded. Not yet. Wade said he wanted to wait for the mysterious 'Logan'. But they _had_ made love, quite spectacularly actually. Skye's whole body felt pleasantly wrung out.

"Intense," Wade said after a moment of thought. "He's _different_. Like we're different. I met him a long time ago – we were both in a program designed to turn us into weapons."

Skye ran her fingers over the mottled, scarred skin on his chest. He had patches of it all over his body; he'd been self-conscious about them until she made it her mission to kiss every one and tell him it didn't matter. "I was turned into a weapon too," she whispered.

"I know." His lips pressed gently against her forehead, his arms tightened around her. "The problem is, as I'm sure you've realised, once you've been turned into a weapon somebody will want to use you."

She nodded against his chest, tears welling in her eyes.

"I'm not gonna let that happen, Skye. And neither will Logan. Not ever."

For the first time since San Juan, she felt safe enough to sleep deeply, without dreams.

Skye woke hearing muffled voices in the safe house's kitchen. Crawling out of bed, she hastily tugged her clothes on and crept to the door, peeking around it to see a tall, broad-shouldered man with tufted dark hair confronting Wade.

_Is that Logan? Oh – must be_… Skye's lips parted as Logan suddenly closed the distance to the blond and grabbed Wade's shoulders, dragging him in for a forceful kiss.

_Holy cow that's the hottest thing I've ever seen_. Her knees went weak, and she must have made a sound, because Logan let go of Wade suddenly and turned towards her, his dark eyes locking with hers through the cracked doorway.

"Well, hello there," he drawled, and Skye's hand dropped, to the three words scrawled just above her pubic bone in a crude, spiky hand. She stood stock still for a moment, but he didn't move, just stood there watching her, Wade leaning on the counter behind him clearly catching his breath after that explosive kiss.

Slowly, Skye pushed the door open enough for her to step into the kitchen. Logan's eyes skimmed swiftly downwards and then back up again, a grin curving his stubbled face. Making him look even more attractive. "You were right," he said over his shoulder to Wade, "she really is my type."

"Told ya," Wade leaned in behind Logan, putting his chin on the other man's shoulder, arms around his waist. "She's gorgeous."

That made Skye blush.

"Cat got your tongue, darlin'?" Logan said when she still couldn't manage to get a word out. "Makes a nice change to have a soulmate who ain't jabberin' my ear off the whole time," he nudged an elbow back into Wade's stomach.

"Eh," Wade leaned in, caught Logan's earlobe in his teeth and nipped lightly, "your ears can take it. Besides, you like my mouth really." He grinned wickedly at Skye. "I'm not known as the Merc with the Mouth because I talk too much, you know. Logan came up with the name and everyone thinks it's because I can't stop yapping, but…"

"Shut it or I'll put it to good use," Logan growled, his eyes still locked with Skye's.

"That's not a threat, that's a promise," Wade chuckled, but quieted when Logan jabbed him in the stomach again, harder this time. They both watched Skye silently.

Her mind was blank. But she knew she had to speak, sooner or later. Wade hadn't told her what her words on Logan were – it was considered hideously bad luck to do that – so she didn't know what she was supposed to say. Nothing too corny or dumb, she prayed. At last, looking at them together, one blond and one dark, both incredibly attractive men, she found some words.

"Damn, I am one really lucky girl."

Wade actually giggled. Logan's grin spread until it almost split his face. "We're the lucky ones, sweetheart. Come here." He extended thickly muscled arms, and shyly she moved closer, let him enfold her in them, breathing in the warm, musky scent of him. Wade moved around them and wrapped his arms around them both from the side, and after a moment Logan and Skye both shifted their arms to hold onto him too, their little triangle complete.

"So go on, kiss her, you idiot, because I really wanna watch," of course it was Wade who broke the silence.

"We'll let you watch as long as you don't give us a running commentary," Skye sniped back instantly, which made a deep rumble of laughter vibrate through Logan's chest.

"Good, girlie, you put him in his place. God knows he needs it."

"Maybe we could just get him a gag," Skye mused.

"Nah." Logan's grin was feral. "What all else he can do with that mouth makes the jabber worth it, you'll find."

She could help but blush and laugh again as a big hand curved around the back of her neck, winding her hair gently into his fist before he kissed her.

**1,920 words.**

**And for anyone who's curious, Deadpool's words on Logan's back (where the palm of his hand will fit on them when he reaches around) say;**

_**Hi! Wow, those claws are neat! Don't suppose you feel like letting me out too to help you trash this place, hey? And then maybe afterwards we could, you know, go for a little stress relief? Because hot damn, you're one sexy hunka burnin' love…**_

**To which, naturally, Logan could only possibly respond, **_**Oh, fucking hell**_**.**


	122. Whose Side Are You On? (Darcy & Gambit)

**Whose Side Are You On?**

_Gambit/Darcy_

ShockGambit

**Theme song:**

**Rob Thomas – Little Wonders**

**This was one of the top few options on the rebooted Poll, and since I'm a bit thrown by what's going on with AoS at the moment I'll be writing some of the non-AoS options for a while.**

**The setting for this one is Las Vegas. Because, you know. Where else would you find a gambler? Tony Stark takes it into his head to take the Avengers to Vegas for the weekend and they hop on one of his private jets…**

"Normality at last!" Darcy sang, spreading her arms and spinning around.

"It's a sad indictment of our lives that Darcy considers this _normal_," Clint murmured to Natasha as they watched the girl they'd both come to think of as a younger sister, smiling beatifically up at the magnificent chandelier hanging above their heads.

Of course, since they were there with Tony Stark they weren't exactly treated like average visitors to Vegas. Darcy had never been into a Vegas high-roller room and looked around with interest as the casino's 'whale host' escorted them in. She'd half-imagined a smoky room with a couple of tables only, but it was a large, well-lit, opulently furnished space. Everyone was expensively dressed – even the casino employees in here wore a higher grade of uniform.

Her gaze snagged on a tall, well-built man in black standing up from one of the tables and walking towards them with a grin on his handsome face. Longish brown hair, designer stubble and dark glasses completed the sexy look. Darcy got a good eyeful.

"Why is he wearing dark glasses, I didn't think you were allowed to do that in a casino?" Darcy murmured to Natasha, who'd gone tense beside her.

"Tony, _mon ami_, it's good to see you!" he had a low, husky voice and a strong accent. Cajun, Darcy thought, not that she'd ever been to Louisiana.

"Oh shit, this weekend just got a lot more expensive!" Tony said with a laugh. He didn't offer a hand, and the other man obviously knew him well enough not to expect a handshake, because he just smiled.

"Only if you play cards 'gainst me, _mon ami_." He turned to Natasha, still smiling. "The lovely Ms. Romanoff. Or are we using a different alias here?"

"No aliases today, LeBeau," Natasha didn't smile in return. Clint, beside her, had gone stiff too, Darcy realised. There was something going on here she didn't understand. They thought this man was dangerous, but not in the super-villain way, or at least she didn't think so, or things would probably already be exploding and she'd have been shoved under a table by now.

LeBeau, if that was his name, inclined his head at Clint, and then turned his attention to Darcy, the last member of the group – the others had all gone off to explore. She couldn't see his eyes behind his dark glasses, but she had the feeling he was assessing her. The smile turned a little wolfish. "A little young for you, isn't she, Stark?" he addressed Tony. "Thought Pepper had broken you of your cradle-snatching habits."

Darcy was well and truly sick of speculation that she was Tony's latest squeeze. That she was sleeping with any of the Avengers, come to that. There'd been speculation about every single one of them. Even Thor, which enraged her, because of how much it hurt Jane. It was rare, though, that she actually got to confront someone about it, and she didn't even think before her hand swung in an arc, meaning to connect with his cheek in a slap. A strong hand snapped up and caught her wrist before she made contact, though.

"Now now, be nice," he chided.

Darcy's mouth fell open. And an instant later Natasha and Clint were pushing her back, making LeBeau let go of her, both talking at once.

"What the hell are you doing in here, anyway?"

"As far as we know you've been banned from every casino in the States…"

"Only if I'm gambling," LeBeau drawled. "I'm here working with de security team, actually."

The casino host nodded, wide-eyed, when Clint glanced at her for affirmation. He and Natasha looked at each other. Tony had already bored of the conversation and wandered off. And then Clint wheeled around, grabbed Darcy's arm and dragged her out of the room, staring back over her shoulder the whole time.

"But…" Darcy protested, still staring at the tall, handsome man who'd said her soulmark words.

"Shut up and don't say anything!"

Remy looked down at Natasha, standing in front of him, her hands spread warily. "Goin' to take a wild guess and say dat I said her soulmark words, hmm?"

"She's a decent kid, LeBeau. She'd be better off without you."

"Dat's not for you to decide!" A faint purplish light began to glow around his fingertips. "I'm not what I used to be, Widow, any more than you are. I go straight now. Use my skills on the level. Ask around Vegas, if you want."

The casino host was either really brave or really stupid, because she hadn't run for cover. "Mr LeBeau runs a top independent casino security risk assessment company," she put in.

Natasha hesitated. But LeBeau – damn him for being so tall, anyway – was looking over the top of her head, staring through the still-open door at Darcy, who was staring back at him, totally ignoring Clint, who was trying to explain to her how dangerous LeBeau was without actually frightening the shit out of her.

Natasha muttered curses under her breath in Russian as LeBeau started to move. But she didn't bother to try and intervene, because Darcy was moving too, walking towards him as though sleepwalking. They stopped mere inches apart and stared at each other, Darcy's head tipped back to gaze up at him.

"So whose side are you on?" Darcy broke the silence first.

Remy smiled slowly. "Yours, _cher_. Always, yours." He offered a long-fingered hand, and Darcy put hers into it shyly, smiled as he lifted it and placed a tender kiss on the backs of her fingers.

"Well," Clint murmured to Natasha, the pair of them watching Remy and Darcy walk towards the elevator, still staring at each other, "that explains quite a lot about Gambit, actually. With words like that, you wouldn't want to be pinned down on any given side until you'd found your soulmate."

"Damn," Natasha said, "there go poker nights in the Tower."

**999 words.**

**I rather like the idea of Gambit deliberately choosing to keep his allegiance ambiguous until he found his soulmate, and then dedicating his life to whatever cause she believed in. He and Darcy would be SO MUCH FUN together, too.**


	123. Better Boobs Than Yours (Skye,Sam&Angel)

**Better Boobs Than Yours**

Skye/Sam/Angel

SkyeWings…

**Theme song:**

**Pink Floyd – Learning To Fly**

Gonna start off with Sam and Angel meeting each other and bring Skye in later…

Sharing the sky above battlefields, it was almost inevitable that they'd meet sooner or later. Thus far, they'd done little more than exchange the odd wave and hand signal, though, so Sam was somewhat embarrassed when he crashed into the gorgeous, white-winged blond X-Man headfirst in the middle of a cloud, his head smacking hard on one of those massive wings in mid-beat.

"Oh, fucking hell!" a little dazed, he lost his orientation and might well have started to tumble if surprisingly strong arms hadn't locked around his waist.

"You all right?" Chest to chest, they stared at each other.

Angel was shirtless – Sam guessed it wasn't that easy to find clothes that fitted around his wings, and this mission had been a surprise attack – so the three words on his right shoulder were quite visible. Almost in Sam's face. He stared at them, his mouth falling open.

"Wilson! It is Wilson, isn't it? Answer me!" a strong hand cupped his cheek, tipped his jaw upwards. "You hit your head pretty hard there, buddy, you all right?"

"Words," Sam said vaguely, meeting ice-blue eyes. "Those are my words. On your shoulder."

"This is not a good time to find that out," Angel said as another leathery, flying beast swooped at them, screeching. Yanking the gun holstered on his left thigh, he fired into the _thing's_ face and it screeched even louder and fell from the sky.

"I know. But – later?"

"Do you know who our third is?" those blue eyes were vulnerable, hopeful. Sam hated having to shake his head.

"No. But you're plenty fucking gorgeous enough for me to start with, thanks."

The blond's answering grin was wicked. "Same, hot stuff."

Sam had folded his wingpack almost instinctively, not wanting to get in Angel's way as the huge white wings beat back and forth. They broke free of the cloud suddenly and Sam saw that they weren't far from Avengers Tower.

"If I let go, are you right to fly?"

"Yes, I think so," he'd reoriented now.

"That's good. Because there's about twenty more of those fuckers coming this way and I really need to reload."

"Go get 'em, white boy," Sam snatched a kiss just before Angel let go and heard the blond's laugh as he fell away, his wingpack snapping open again.

Recently rebuilt by Stark with an arc reactor to power repulsor tech, Sam's new wings were crazy better than his old ones, but he still wasn't a match for the winged mutant in the sky. He might be a little quicker than Angel in a straight dash, but the X-man could literally fly rings around him in terms of agility, his G-force tolerance was clearly phenomenal. He was supernaturally strong, too, Sam realised, had to be, watching as he landed on one of the batlike thing's backs and broke its neck with a wrench of his arms.

"What was that, Sam?" Clint asked in his earpiece, and Sam realised to his embarrassment that he'd let out a whine of lust as he watched Angel fly away from the falling monster.

"Nothing!" he said hastily. "Any more of them, Barton?"

"Nup, think that one Worthington just killed was the last. Come on in, Sam."

That's right, Sam recalled now, the X-Man known as Angel was also a billionaire, very nearly Stark's equal in wealth if he remembered right. Swooping down to land atop Avengers Tower, he met Barton's knowing grin and remembered that the archer was the team's co-ordinator, the one who could hear all communications. He'd have heard Sam and Angel's conversation.

Clint's eyes raised up then, and Sam turned to see Angel flying in to land behind him, his wings sweeping gracefully up and back as he landed lightly on his feet. Sam _dreamed_ of being able to make landings that perfect.

"Hi, Angel," he said a bit dumbly.

"Call me Warren," the blond strode towards him, his wings folding to arch elegantly above his shoulders. He was an inch or two taller than Sam when they were both on their feet.

"I'm Sam…"

"I know." Strong arms slid around Sam's waist, and then he was being kissed very thoroughly indeed.

They didn't try to bond. Without their third, it would be incomplete, damaged, and likely enough lead to problems. It didn't keep them from having some pretty spectacular sex, though, and from forming an aerial partnership that spelled Bad News for bad guys in the sky. Wisely, they didn't try to live in each others' pockets, instead stayed with their respective teams and kept searching for their third.

"Do you think it's a girl?" Sam asked late one night as they lay together in the huge bed in Warren's penthouse apartment – he called it his _eyrie_, there were windows on all sides which opened to balconies. Sam loved the place.

Warren leaned up on his elbows, looked over at where Sam lay sprawled on his back, one of Warren's wings across his body. "Do you want it to be?"

"Yes? I like girls too. How about you?"

"Love them," he grinned a very un-angelic grin, ran a pale hand over Sam's chest. "Sexy though you are – I do like boobs too."

"I'll have you know I have gorgeous boobs!" Sam pouted, cupping his hands under his pectoral muscles. Warren cracked up and they both dissolved into helpless laughter.

"Oh wow, look at that," Skye actually forgot how to run, she was so entranced with watching the two flyers in the sky above them, and managed to tangle her legs up and fall in a heap. Hunter skidded to a stop, ran back and grabbed her arm, jerking her to her feet.

"You can lust over Angel and Falcon later, Skye, _run_ now!"

"But they're so _pretty_. Like yin and yang," she said, eyes still trained upwards.

"Skye!" Hunter yelled, and then dragged her back down to the ground again as the HYDRA agents they were running from caught up and bullets started flying. She twisted over and flung her hands up, sending vibrations through the air to form a shield over them – only realising that might have been a mistake when there was a scream from above them and she looked up to see Falcon plummeting out of the sky.

"Oh, shit!" she started to run. She must have hit a vibration frequency that affected something on his wingpack, because from the look of things his repulsors had failed. And she wasn't going to get there in time to cushion his landing, he was going to crash-land too far away from her… "Oh shit, I've killed an Avenger!"

Iron Man was screaming in behind them, dealing with the HYDRA agents, why wasn't he trying to catch Falcon, dammit… and then a huge shadow swooped by over Skye's head at incredible speed and Angel snatched the plummeting superhero out of his fall. Even he didn't have the power to stop the fall completely, though, and the two men crash-landed in the field, rolling over and over in the grass in a tangle of metallic black and feathered white wings.

"Noooooo, oh God, what have I done!" Out of breath, Skye sprinted up to the two men, fell to her knees beside them, terrified to touch. She could see blood on Angel's pale face where the metal edge of one of Falcon's wings had scraped his cheek. "Please don't be dead, you're too beautiful to be dead," she almost sobbed it, letting out a moan of relief as blue eyes flickered open. Falcon's head was under one of the white wings and she tugged at it carefully.

"Can you move your wing?"

"You better hope _he's_ not dead, or we're going to have a serious problem," Angel rasped out, and Skye froze, staring at him incredulously as he lifted his wing.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me. And he's our third." Warren moved his other wing with a groan, feeling the ache of the hard landing in every muscle, but he'd deliberately taken the brunt of it on himself, knowing that Sam was the more fragile of the two of them. "I can feel him breathing, but I think he's smacked his head again. He has a bad habit of doing that."

Skye choked back an incredulous laugh as she watched Warren disentangle himself from Sam, folding back the wingpack as much as he could, though at least one of the metallic wings was badly mangled. "I'm so sorry. It was all my fault."

"Was it, indeed." Warren surveyed her for a moment, settling to the ground and taking Sam's head in his lap. "Well. Lucky for you I can fix him."

Skye almost screamed as Warren pulled a knife from his boot. Stared in horror as he slashed a cut on his forearm and twisted it to press against a gash on the side of Sam's head. And then her eyes widened as the cuts on both men began to heal at a rate that was nothing short of magical.

Dark eyes flickered open and stared at her, and then Sam coughed, trying to push himself to sit up.

"Oh, don't move just yet," Skye automatically reached out to press him back down.

Sam's eyes widened, and he twisted to look at Warren, who grinned down at him. "Yup."

"Crap on a cracker," Sam muttered, and then he turned to look at Skye again. "I seem to have made a habit out of meeting my soulmates right after hitting my head," he gestured vaguely, "so I hope any complete nonsense that comes out of my mouth, you won't hold against me?"

Skye couldn't help but smile a little tearfully. "No. But you are the reason why the whole of the back of my right thigh is covered in writing, so I'll hold _that_ against you."

"Literally, hopefully," Warren said with one of his very un-angelic grins.

"Shut up, you pervert," Sam tried to elbow him, "you'll scare her off before we even get to know her!"

"That'd be a cryin' shame," Warren leered cheerfully at Skye, who found herself totally unable to suppress a giggle at the banter between the two of them, "because she's got much better boobs than yours."

**1710 words.**

**Note: blood contact is how comic-canon Angel is able to heal.**

**And I finally came up with an alternative name for the Soulmate Shorts (which I've thought was shit from the beginning) it's now also known as The Crackship Armada - no OTP ships for me and my followers! Come sail these crazy seas with me, me hearties, thar be treasures yet to be found...**

**... and don't forget to vote for some of those new treasures on the rebooted Poll, if you didn't yet...**


	124. HYDRA Or Mine (Fitz & Bucky)

**HYDRA Or Mine**

_Fitz/Bucky_

WinterEngineer – also possibly (and very amusingly) Ficky or Butz. (_Butz_. Oh God I crack myself up sometimes. I just had a fit of the giggles over that).

**Theme song:**

**Bruce Springsteen – Human Touch**

Escape from 'The _Real_ SHIELD' was laughably easy, for two people as smart as Fitz and Jemma. Especially since Bobbi and Mack, when the time came, looked the other way. They knew exactly where to go, too. Walking into Avengers Tower, they headed for the reception desk and asked for Maria Hill.

Ten minutes later they were sitting in Maria's office telling her everything. She listened quietly before nodding. "You can't go back to Coulson, not where he is right now. It's easy enough to implant you within Stark Industries, though. Stark's gonna love both of you."

"And obviously we shouldn't mention Director Coulson's name?" Jemma said.

Maria snorted. "He's not seriously still deluding himself that they don't know he's alive? Don't make me laugh. They're waiting for him to come to them, though. Stark's still annoyed about it, and don't even get me started on how Barton and Romanoff feel."

Fitz and Jemma concluded that it wasn't a good idea to mention Coulson anyway. They integrated seamlessly into life in the Tower – they were given a very nice guest room each and Jemma lost herself in Banner's amazing biotech labs – while Fitz found himself in tech heaven when let loose in Stark's machine shops. Though not the one where the Iron Man armour was built. That was Stark-only.

It was a couple of weeks later when Captain America and the Falcon disappeared for a couple of days and then returned, bringing with them the Winter Soldier. Fitz was woken in the middle of the night by a knock on his door.

"Mm-hm?" he said blearily, opening the door to find Hill standing there, fully dressed, a worried frown on her face. "Oh. Ms. Hill. Is there a problem, ma'am?"

"We need your help," she said abruptly. "No time to get dressed. You're decent," nodding to his pyjamas. "Come on."

She led him, barefoot, yawning and rubbing his eyes, to the lab he'd been working in lately, one equipped with a wondrous array of small electronics tools and equipment. And there, standing in the middle of the lab, were three very large, very recognisable men.

Fitz gulped as the Winter Soldier's icy blue eyes settled on him, and took a step back, thoroughly intimidated. And to his immense surprise, the Soldier relaxed suddenly, the tension that had come over him dissipating.

"You're right," he said to Steve in a distinctly Brooklyn accent, "he's not scary at all."

Fitz found himself grinning. "Unlike you, my scariness isn't visible. My brain's my superpower."

Even Steve wasn't quick enough to intercede before the Soldier had Fitz pinned up against the wall, metal arm across his chest. Shouts of "Bucky, no!" and "Barnes, let him go!" had Fitz blinking; astonished, confused, and somewhat terrified.

But his brain was still working. He'd heard the squeak and grind as the metal arm worked. "I could help you fix that," he blurted out, his eyes dropping to the arm, seeing the dirt and grease clogging the plates and joints. "Oh. Oh of course, that's why I'm here, isn't it? But why not Stark?"

"He's too loud," Sam said quietly. "Spooked Barnes. We thought, you're quieter. Unthreatening."

"I'd have thought that too," Fitz was still staring into Barnes' blue eyes. He'd recognised him now, put the pieces together. _Bucky Barnes_. However the hell that was possible. "I'm really not going to hurt you."

A weary smile touched Barnes' mouth. "If you only knew how many times I've heard that."

Fitz's mouth fell open. "You – _what_?"

The arm across his chest dropped, and Barnes tilted his head. "Show me."

"Um," Fitz glanced wide-eyed around at the others, who were staring at the two of them curiously, "now?"

"Wait," Steve blinked, suddenly clueing in to what had just happened, "Buck, were those your soulmark words?"

"Uh-huh. Which means either he's HYDRA or he's mine."

"Not HYDRA," Fitz said a bit weakly.

"I hope you'll forgive me if I need you to prove it." Bucky looked consideringly at the young Scot. "But I get that you don't need an audience. The peanut gallery wanna give us a minute, here?" he glanced at Steve, who sighed and urged a chuckling Sam and a rather horrified-looking Hill out.

"So," Bucky turned back to Fitz, "show me."

Fit was red to his hairline. "Where's yours?" he said, frantically trying to buy some time. Watched in wide-eyed awe as Barnes stripped off the hoodie he was wearing. He had a T-shirt on underneath which clung to every muscle in his leanly defined torso, but didn't cover enough of his flesh arm to hide the words written inside the curve of his right elbow.

"Oh," Fitz mumbled. Trying very hard not to lick his lips.

Bucky eyed him consideringly. "I take it yours are somewhere rather less socially acceptable to be showing to someone you just met?"

"Mm-hm." And he had the awful feeling that his pyjama pants weren't going to roll up that far. He tried, trying and failing to ignore Bucky's amused grin. "Oh, what the hell!" he turned around and dropped his pants to his knees, showing the words written on the back of his left thigh, just above the knee. Trying very hard not to think about what Barnes would have to be doing to him for the words to be in contact.

"Ahuh. Yup. That's my writing."

Barnes didn't touch his leg. Which was good. Fitz had the awful feeling that if he had, Fitz would have started begging, or at least made incoherent noises as he tried and failed to find words. He jerked his pants back up, hands shaking, unable to make himself turn around until a muscled forearm slipped around his waist and turned him gently. He looked up into Barnes' amazingly blue eyes, unable to speak.

Bucky studied the young engineer for a long moment before smiling slowly, gently. "So you think you can help me with my arm?" he asked quietly.

**995 words.**

**This wasn't an option anywhere near the top of the Poll, but these two have been buzzing around my brain ever since I wrote the Mack/Darcy 5+1 fic **_**The Accidental Voyeur**_**. I finally just gave in and wrote it.**


	125. Made To Be Mine (Bakshi & Skye)

**Made To Be Mine**

_Bakshi/Skye_

DarkSkyes (I dunno. It just sounds evocative)

**Theme song:**

**Radiohead – Creep **

**The happenings in this fic occur when Bakshi is locked in Vault D, sometime after S2 ep 8 (The Things We Bury) but before the team go to Puerto Rico. Coulson and company have returned to the Playground after their visit to Hawaii and then Australia, to find Jemma dealing with the aftermath of Bakshi's attempted suicide.**

**This is not **_**exactly**_** an HEA fic. Not for everybody. You'll see ;)**

"God," Skye stared down at the comatose man on the hospital bed. "How horrifying for you, Jemma."

The scientist's hands were still shaking, even hours later. "I can't believe he did that," she shook her head. "Just – who _does_ that? He wasn't brainwashed. Just because he thinks that he somehow betrayed Whitehall…" her eyes were agonised. Skye reached out to hug her.

"He terrified me," Jemma said quietly. "When I was undercover in that lab. I'd look around sometimes and see those hard dark eyes on me. I felt like a mouse in front of a snake. Just utterly petrified."

_And she was still afraid of him_, Skye realised, her eyes averted even now from the unconscious man. "It's all right. You don't have to see him."

"He's my patient…"

"Jemma, it's _all right_. Bobbi and I can manage his care. All you have to do is read the chart. He's hooked up to the monitors, you can remotely check the readings. If I can't take a blood sample by now you haven't been teaching me right."

"He's very dangerous," Jemma warned.

"Which is why he's being moved to Vault D," Coulson leaned in the doorway. "We need the medical bay for Trip. I'm not wasting our best medic on an enemy. No matter how much useful information he may have. Skye's right, Jemma. The rest of us can manage him. He'll be quite secure in Vault D. Bobbi can continue questioning him there."

Jemma went almost limp with relief, and Skye hugged her again. "It's fine, Jemma. I'm not scared of him. We'll be fine."

Sunil Bakshi didn't wake until the following day, and when he saw that he was still alive and secured in the vault, restrained to a hospital bed, he screamed himself hoarse. Bobbi headed in to try and talk him down, Mack there to keep an eye on things and manage the vault's security screens.

After Bobbi checked him over, Jemma cleared Bakshi for a meal. Skye volunteered to go spoon-feed him, since they weren't prepared to let him out of his restraints just yet.

"Hello," she said cheerfully, striding up to the bed, bowl of puréed vegetable gunk in hand. Behind her, the screen hummed back up, Mack standing by the controls with one hand on his gun. "This will probably be disgusting, but let me assure you that you're going to eat it anyway. Even if I have to hold your nose to make you choke it down."

Hard black eyes stared at her, and then, unexpectedly, Bakshi smiled. Skye was taken aback suddenly by what an incredibly handsome man he was. But then – she knew another very handsome man with a heart as black as coal. _Fool me twice, shame on me. I'll not be taken in twice by a pretty face_.

"You're very beautiful, but you do talk too much," Bakshi said in a cultured British accent, his voice hoarse but perfectly understandable.

The bowl hit the floor, the gunk splattering over Skye's shoes. She took a step back, her eyes wide and horrified. "No."

"Oh yes, my sweet. You're mine. You were _made_ to be mine. And I'll never rest until you are."

"No!" she backed right up to the screen, and it hummed down, Mack reaching out to grab her and pull her back before putting it back up again.

"What the fuck, Skye?" he dragged her behind him, his gun up and pointing at Bakshi even though the bullet would evaporate in the screen if he fired.

"Soulmate," she almost sobbed it, hitting the button to turn the screen opaque. To block out the sight of the man – the _monster_ – who the Fates had decreed was her perfect match. "He's my soulmate!"

"Oh, _shit_."

Bakshi was smiling up at the ceiling when Coulson came.

"You'll never see her again," Phil said without preamble. "She's already suffered enough because of HYDRA, she won't give you a chance to destroy her. She sent me to tell you that she rejects you, utterly and without reserve. I barely talked her out of taking a razor to herself to try and cut off your words."

"I don't even know her name yet."

"And you never will." Phil turned on his heel and left. May came in on his heels, a fresh bowl of mush in her hands.

"Not a word," she warned, "or this will be a lot more unpleasant than it needs to be."

He heard the big plane taking off a couple of hours later, wondered if his soulmate was aboard, she of the haunted dark eyes and delicately lovely face. _His_. He had something to live for now. She _would_ be his. No matter what she believed right now. Doctor Whitehall could make her believe whatever Sunil wanted her to believe. Turn her into the perfect, docile Stepford Wife he'd always wanted.

Sunil Bakshi hummed softly as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Less than two days later, he was screaming his rage to the vault ceiling again as the words he'd carried for twenty-six years slowly erased themselves from his skin.

It was the one good thing that Skye discovered after San Juan, after the terror of the temple and realising that she had somehow changed. That there was something very wrong with her. Because the one thing that was absolutely, perfectly _right_ was the fact that Bakshi's words had disappeared from her stomach, and new ones had appeared in their place, in completely different handwriting. _It's good to finally meet you. We've heard a lot about you._

Far away, a man jerked upright from sleep, hissing with surprise at the pain in his stomach. He reached out to turn on the light, stared down in astonishment at the words slowly etching themselves into his skin. _The honour's all mine, Cap_.

"Well," Steve Rogers said with a sigh, "I guess that's going to be a long wait."

**995 words.**

**Little do you know, Steve. Little do you know.**

**Did you like it? Twists and turns? I got asked for a Bakshi fic, and he is SOOOO gorgeous (love you, Simon Kassianides! **_**Swoon**_**!) but I just can't see him being redeemed. He's HYDRA to the core, a true believer. At least with Rumlow there's doubt. We've seen too much of Bakshi for that. So I made it that the Terrigen Mists changed Skye enough to give her a new and different soulmate, and Bakshi lost out… and then surprise!Steve at the end. Twist in the tale indeed!**


	126. Something To Believe In (Bakshi & Jemma)

**Something To Believe In**

_Bakshi/Jemma_

Bakshimmons – this is a legit ship name for a very small ship I wish was bigger! I highly recommend hithelleth's _All One Can't Imagine (But Happens Anyway)_ for an awesome take on the pairing.

**Theme song:**

**Poison – Something To Believe In**

**This begins sometime prior to S02E03, Making Friends And Influencing People, and covers events in Ep5, A Hen In The Wolf House and Ep8, The Things We Bury. It goes AU after Ep10. You'll see why.**

**Thank you so much for all those lovely comments and reactions from yesterday! Bakshi is very delicious, so here's a slightly different version of him… this one's salvageable… and I couldn't resist saying FTWL, either.**

A sudden prickling on the back of Jemma's neck made her realise that she was being watched. She didn't react. Just carried on with her work. The prickling didn't go away, though, and after a moment she yawned, stretched as though stiff and rolled her head on her neck. Her eyes swept across the room and she saw instantly who was watching her.

_Oh my goodness what an attractive man,_ was her first thought. Followed instantly by _Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!_ She returned her gaze to her work. _Do not have lust-feelings for HYDRA bad-men, Jemma_, she told herself sternly. _That way lies your almost inevitable torture and horrible grisly death_.

But, oh, goodness, he was handsome… when she looked up again, he was standing right in front of her lab bench. She startled, a hand flying to her chest.

"I'm sorry if I startled you, that was not my intention," he said in a crisp British accent very much like her own. "Please continue with your work."

About a million thoughts raced through Jemma's brain simultaneously, most of them ending up at _OH SHIT_.

"Your work is very interesting, I've read your file," the gorgeous dark-haired, dark-eyed, swarthy-skinned Adonis in the immaculate Armani suit told her. "We're very pleased that you've chosen to apply your talents with HYDRA now."

He stopped and looked at her. He was obviously waiting for her to speak. Jemma's brain was screaming _SAY SOMETHING, SOMETHING HE WON'T RECOGNISE_. She was hoping that she hadn't reacted to his first words in any way that he would pick up on. "Hail HYDRA," she said finally, offering a weak smile.

He started, those gorgeous dark eyes widening, and looked at her closely. She looked back, allowing her expression to become curious as he stared at her. "Was there something else, sir?" she said finally.

"No," he said slowly. "No – nothing else." He turned and walked away, glancing back over his shoulder at her a time or two before leaving the lab.

"That's Mr Bakshi," her supervisor, Dr Turgeon, said quietly. "Very senior. Dr Whitehall's right-hand man."

"I see. Well, what an honour to be singled out by him," Jemma said, after having to take a deep breath. _Did I react strangely? I need to explain that_. She glanced at Turgeon. "I try not to let personal feelings interfere with my work. But if he's around a lot, I'm going to get awfully distracted."

"Oh?"

"Forgive me for sounding like a swooning teenager, but really, he's a _very_ attractive specimen of masculinity."

Turgeon laughed. "I'm sure you won't let that interfere with your work, Dr Simmons." He walked away.

Jemma looked down at her hands, at the fine tremor in them. Taking another slow, deep breath, she steadied herself. _Nobody ever needs to know_.

She still couldn't help herself from throwing herself at him when Skye had him in her rifle sights, though. Pushing him out of the way of the bullet, even though she was pretty sure that Skye was shooting to miss, giving her a chance to cement her cover. And as she lay atop his body and he looked up at her and whispered;

"You saved my life," she felt something warm coil in the pit of her stomach.

"I somehow suspect I'd be in a great deal of trouble if I headed back without you, sir," she said crisply.

"Yes," he smiled, startling her, and then he was getting up with little effort, setting her on her feet, and she realised with a shock how very strong he had to be. "Well. Thank you anyway."

"You're welcome," he was still holding onto her, one arm around her waist. She looked away deliberately. "What do you think happened to Mr Gill?"

Bakshi was always watching her after that. She tried not to show her awareness of it too much – but then he recommended her to Dr Whitehall, after her work in Marrakesh. Really, it was only polite to say thank you.

"Good work is rewarded, Dr Simmons," was all he said when she approached him directly and thanked him. There wasn't much she could say to that. But from the corner of her eye, as she turned away, she saw his mouth curve in a private little smile.

_Sunil's cute when he smiles_, she thought. And then, _Oh dear lord, when did I start thinking of him as Sunil?_

She had bare seconds to plant the flex screen in Turgeon's desk when that terrifying Head of Security woman announced that there was a mole. Afterwards, watching as a protesting Turgeon was dragged away, she felt sick to her stomach. Turning away, she almost ran into Bakshi's broad chest. His hands came up, clasped her elbows. Dark eyes gazed into hers.

"Sir!" she gasped. "Oh – I'm sorry."

He only stared at her for a moment. And then he leaned down, his lips almost brushing her cheek, and said softly into her ear "I'm glad it wasn't you, Jemma."

Her knees felt weak as she pulled away and ran to the bathroom. Scalding tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she held them in determinedly. Standing that close, she'd _felt_ the pull between them. So strong. He had to be feeling it too, but to him it would just feel like sexual attraction, probably. Since he didn't know they were soulmates.

"He's HYDRA," Jemma whispered to herself. "A killer. He's HYDRA." She squeezed her eyes shut, leaned against the cubicle wall. A single tear made its way down her cheek and she scrubbed it away fiercely. "He's HYDRA."

And _oh dear lord_ he was waiting for her when she came out of the bathroom. She stopped dead, staring at him.

"Come to dinner with me," he said abruptly.

Jemma took a slow, controlled breath. "Is that an order, sir?"

A slight smile kicked up one corner of his mouth. That hard, luscious mouth that wouldn't stay out of Jemma's dreams. "No, Dr Simmons. It's not an order, though I may have made it sound like one. It's an invitation."

Another slow breath. "Then thank you, sir, but I shall politely decline. I've found that mixing business with pleasure is generally a recipe for disaster."

Sunil moved suddenly, stepping forward. Starting back, she found her back against the wall and nowhere to go, him looming over her, his eyes very dark. "The rewards, I think, would outweigh the risks." His voice was low and husky, and Jemma had to stiffen her knees to keep from just sagging against him. She bit her lip hard, terrified to open her mouth in case she said something awful. Like _yes, please_.

"All right." He stepped back after a moment. "I won't push. But if you change your mind, Jemma – I'll be waiting."

He had a clear shot at her as she and Bobbi fled the facility. He knew and she knew it, as their eyes met over the barrel of the gun. But he hesitated, his finger easing off the trigger, and she gazed at him for one endless instant before fleeing.

The next time she saw him, Hunter and May were dragging him into the Playground in chains. He didn't see her, lurking in the shadows by the lab door. He looked a little roughed up – Ward had taken him by surprise, apparently.

If Coulson had been there, Jemma would have gone to him then and told him the whole story. But he wasn't there, he was in Hawaii, and Agent May wasn't quite so easy to confide in. So she kept her mouth shut. Watched with Hunter and Mack as Bobbi interrogated Bakshi, skilfully manipulating him. Found Peggy Carter's file on Reiner aka Whitehall and handed it over, never dreaming that it would lead to her soulmate attempting to commit suicide.

"No!" she screamed, bursting in as Sunil slid to the floor, froth splattering his lips. His eyes widened as he saw her bending over him, and he seemed to be trying to say something before sliding into unconsciousness.

"Oh my God, no, don't die, you can't die!" Jemma almost sobbed, frantically fighting to stabilise him. She looked up finally to find a row of extremely concerned faces. Staring not at Bakshi, but at her.

Coulson called her into his office the following morning. She'd been up all night, working on first Bakshi – who was comatose, but would survive – and then Trip, who was in pretty much the same state. She sank wearily into a chair opposite Coulson's desk and buried her face in her hands.

"Is there something that you'd like to tell me, Agent Simmons?" his voice was quite gentle.

"Sunil Bakshi is my soulmate. And before you ask, no, he has absolutely no idea," she said flatly.

Coulson was silent for a long moment. "Did you ever plan to tell him?" he asked carefully.

"No! He's HYDRA, sir! _HYDRA!_ I don't _ever_ want him to know," Jemma was quivering with rage. "Whatever we were meant to be to each other when I was born, he's taken a path through life that – just _no_, sir! Never!"

Phil looked at the trembling young scientist before him. Pursed his lips, steepled his fingers. "May I ask what your first words to him were?"

Jemma looked blank for a moment. "I don't…" and then she remembered. "Oh my God," she whispered. "I said – I said _Hail HYDRA_." Tears sprang up in her eyes. "_I_ did this. I – he must have believed that I would be HYDRA. He's made himself into this, this loyal _thing_, for _my_ sake."

Coulson watched her cry for a moment, and then he sighed, got up and took a clean handkerchief from his pocket. Coming around the desk, he pressed it into her hands and laid his hand on her shoulder. "Jemma. _Jemma_. You can't blame yourself for everything he's done. It's not your fault."

He watched a little helplessly as she sobbed into her hands, and eventually he left her alone and headed down to the medical bay. Stared at the comatose man in the bed. And eventually, he sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets before turning away.

"I'll stay," Jemma faced Coulson on the Bus. "I don't want to go back. Not yet." Tears were once again drying on her cheeks, this time for Trip, and Coulson couldn't find it in himself to deny her.

"All right. You have your team: clear the tunnels and blow them." He nodded to her. "I need to get back to base. Need to take care of Skye, and Mack."

She didn't argue. She couldn't stop thinking about the man who she now knew was locked in Vault D.

"Agent Coulson," Bakshi said quietly as Coulson entered, the screen hissing up behind him. May stood beside the controls, her arms folded. "What an unexpected pleasure to see you again."

Phil just stared at him for a moment before abruptly saying "Daniel Whitehall is dead. I killed him."

"Ah." Bakshi stared back at him before saying steadily; "You're wondering how to use me."

"Indeed. There are a number of ways it could go from here, you see. General Talbot wants you for your part in the Navy wedding massacre. If I hand you over to him, you'll spend the rest of your days in military prison."

"I daresay that would be no more than I deserve."

Phil leaned against the wall, arms folded, looking at the man sitting cross-legged on the bed, gazing calmly back at him. "You know, don't you?"

"I guessed. Once I got close to her, there was a pull that I really couldn't explain. I thought – I couldn't understand why she would have concealed it. Until I realised that she wasn't HYDRA." He looked down at his hands. At the one wrist handcuffed to the bed frame. "And discovered that I'd built my whole life on an incorrect assumption."

There was silence between them for a long moment. And then Bakshi squared his shoulders and looked up at Coulson. "So. What do you want me to do?"

"Coulson's mad to trust him," Hunter whispered to Bobbi, as they sat waiting in the SUV. "If he turns, if they're waiting for us…"

"He won't," Bobbi said. Watching as the men slipping out of the darkness surrounded the car. Bakshi had warned them it would happen. That he had to appear to sell Hunter out. "I told you. He needs something to believe in. If that's Jemma…"

"Poor girl," Hunter muttered as Bobbi reached for the touch panel. "Well, I guess we'll know soon enough."

They did indeed. When extra HYDRA goons ambushed them and Bakshi slipped the gun out of the waistband of his pants and coolly shot down the man who'd been about to shoot Hunter in the back before turning and putting a bullet through Octavian Bloom's forehead. The look of shock on the HYDRA leader's face made Bakshi grin mirthlessly.

"Who did you get?" Bobbi asked.

"The Baroness, the Banker and the Sheik. Couldn't get Dr List, he and Bloom were too closely allied, and von Strucker is too well protected. But I might be able to get to them another way."

Hunter whistled between his teeth. "Four out of six ain't bad, Bakshi."

"It's not enough," Bakshi shook his head, looking down at the dead man on the ground. "It won't ever be enough."

"It's a pretty good start," Coulson said from the doorway. "All right. Check the place over." He waved the technicians behind him in, pointing at the computers. And behind them came… Jemma.

Bakshi took an involuntary step forward, barely noticing when Hunter deftly relieved him of the gun in his hand. "Jemma."

She stared at him from tear-bright eyes. "You – did this for _me_?"

He looked around, at the bodies on the floor, the blood-spattered room. "It's a pretty unconventional courting gift," he said with a rueful shrug, "but I have nothing else to offer."

She ran at him. He braced for a punch, a kick, a knife – whatever it was, he'd take it. But instead, she flung her arms around his neck, tugged his head down so she could kiss his lips. Her tears were wet against his face as he held her close, her slim body melting against his.

"_Jemma_," he breathed softly against her mouth as she pulled back at last.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice shaking. "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault, everything, how could I have been so _stupid_…"

He shut her up with another kiss, and when he let her up for air, shook his head at her. "My actions, my responsibilities, Jemma. I'll pay whatever price I must for it."

"Coulson says that we have to change your identity, but that we can edit your records to show that you were a SHIELD agent undercover…"

Startled, he looked at Coulson, who was standing on the other side of the room watching them. "I don't deserve that."

"Maybe not yet," Coulson replied, "but I'm willing to let you earn it."

His arms tightened around Jemma. "I'll earn it. No matter what it takes."

**2531 words.**

**And thanks to CeliaEquus, who asked 'what if someone had 'Hail HYDRA' as their soulmark?' This was my answer.**

**I was… somewhat stunned (and very flattered) by the reactions to yesterday's Skye/Bakshi short. Now I know some of you just want to see more SkyeCap. And to be honest, the plot to me for the continuation seems awfully obvious. (Skye and Steve meet, realise they're soulmates, fall in love. A year or so down the road, Bakshi escapes Talbot's prison somehow, sees TV footage of the Avenger called Quake and loses his shit – he thought she was dead, obviously, Phil probably lied to him and confirmed it, told him they lost her because of Whitehall, maybe. Bakshi goes after Skye and Steve, they deal with him and live HEA).**

**I prefer to travel the less obvious road, if you didn't already realise that. And I did write SkyeCap, in Truth In A Bottle. Both the SkyeCap and WinterSkyeCap fics are being continued, too. That said, I do have a writer who's asked to continue this, but I need to evaluate their work first. I am a bit of a picky bitch about who I'll let write on – that said, I only said no to one person who had a completely incoherent plot and lacked capital letters, punctuation and paragraph breaks *headdesk*. So there's a good chance you **_**will**_** see a continuation for **_**Made To Be Mine**_**, along with many others.**


	127. Am I Shocking You (Colossus & Darcy)

**Am I Shocking You?**

_Darcy/Colossus_

ColossalShock

**Theme song:**

**Paula Cole – I Don't Want To Wait**

"I'm not jealous," Darcy muttered to herself. "Not fucking jealous. I'm _not_."

Except… she was. A little bit. All these gorgeous, sexy superheroes, and they all treated her like their adorably cute kid sister that they patted on the head and wanted to vet her dates. Not that she ever got any damn dates, since she hardly ever got to leave the damn Tower.

She scowled at her feet through the glass conference table. Thor, next to her, nudged her slightly.

"Are you well, lightning sister?"

"Fine," she muttered back, in a tone that any Earth male would have recognised as _not at all fine and don't push me, buster_. Thor, however, was not from around here.

"Are you not excited to be meeting some of the X-Men?" Thor pressed. "We have heard so much of them. I am pleased that they have accepted the Man of Iron's invitation, I look forward especially to meeting the Lady Storm…"

Darcy tried not to growl. The X-Men were bringing along eight members, in order to be equal in number to the eight Avengers (since Falcon and War Machine were now included in their number), and they had rather unhelpfully supplied only codenames. Storm, Cyclops, Wolverine, Angel, Colossus, Iceman, Shadowcat and Rogue.

Tony and Darcy had researched them, but only the first four names on the list yielded any information. The last four were unknown – all that was known about them was that none of them were telepaths, as Professor Xavier had agreed not to send any, conceding that would be an unfair advantage in negotiations for an alliance.

Darcy sat up a little straighter as the conference room door swung open and the X-Men started filing in. She was surprised to see that several of them appeared to be about her own age – but then so did several of the Avengers who were significantly older.

Handshakes began, with cordial greetings and introductions, but proceedings were interrupted with a growl from the dark-haired man who had to be Wolverine. "We're outnumbered. Why are there nine of you?"

All eyes turned to Darcy, who shrank back a bit. Thor placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Lady Darcy is not an Avenger. She is, however, a trusted member of our circle and she offered to come along and take notes on the meeting today."

"She also has a degree in political science," Natasha said dryly, "which might come in handy if we need a mediator."

Eight pairs of hard eyes surveyed her for a moment, and then they all nodded.

The chair beside Darcy creaked ominously as the largest of the X-Men, a huge, dark-haired young man even bigger than Thor, settled into it. She looked up at him – even sitting down his head was about a foot above hers – and smiled. He smiled back, showing a suddenly adorable dimple in his cheek, and opened his mouth to speak – when the chair decided it was really not up to the task and collapsed, sending him crashing to the floor.

There was a shriek of "Piotr!" from the tiny X-Man (X-Woman? Darcy wondered) sitting on his other side, and then she broke out in a fit of the giggles.

"Thank you, Kitty," Piotr rumbled, scrambling to his feet, disentangling himself from the wreckage what looked to have once been a very expensive office chair. His face was red, and he couldn't look at the pretty brunette with the glasses who was giggling behind her hand, as everyone clustered around, Rogers heading off to find him another (hopefully more substantial) chair.

Another chair was produced in short order and Piotr sat down gingerly, holding onto the edge of the conference table. Although it was quite possible he might pull the darn table down with him if this chair collapsed too. Fortunately, it didn't, and he was able to relax after a few moments.

"Does that happen to you a lot?" Darcy whispered during a brief lull in the conversation.

His head snapped around, and he blinked startled dark eyes at her.

"Bet it does," she half-snickered. "Bet all your furniture has to be specially reinforced. You should talk to Cap and Thor; they've both been through more than a few beds. 'Specially Thor, because he and Jane… this is gonna be TMI, isn't it? You look shocked. Am I shocking you?"

"Yes," he murmured back softly, "but probably not for the reason you think."

Darcy had been tilting her chair back on two legs, grinning as she teased him. The grin disappeared as he spoke, and she overbalanced and went over backwards with a crash.

"What the hell," Tony said incredulously, standing up. "I can understand Colossus breaking one of my chairs, but _Darcy_?"

She blinked adorably up at Piotr though her glasses as he bent to pick her up.

"Are you hurt, Солнышко ?" he asked, easily lifting her to her feet. She had to tilt her head way, way back to look him in the eyes. A slow grin started to curve her mouth.

"Colossus," it wasn't a question.

"That's me," Piotr acknowledged.

"I am really likin' this turn of events," she gave him a long, slow, head to toe look that took about a minute and made him blush very red by the time her gaze wandered back up to his face.

"If we could _possibly_ start the meeting now?" Tony said sarcastically from the other end of the table.

"Sure, but someone else is going to have to take notes," Darcy said, still staring up at Piotr, "because I'm stealing my soulmate and we're gonna go get to know each other."

"Your _what_?" came a chorus of voices around the room.

Piotr found himself grinning foolishly as Darcy's hand slipped into his.

"_Da_, I like that idea very much also," he agreed, following her towards the door.

"Guess we're just going to have to act like grown-ups and work this out by ourselves," Natasha said dryly as the door closed behind them.

**Солнышко** –** diminutive Russian for sun; literally indicative that the addressee is at the centre of everything for the speaker.**

**1000 words exactly (excluding Russian translation)**

**Now, I'm sorry there hasn't been one of these (or anything new from me) for a few days. My brain has been taken over entirely by a fic I'm working on with Lady Winterlight (she who wrote the wonderful continuation for Steve/Bucky/Skye). We're keeping it under wraps for now but a lot of you are gonna be VERY HAPPY when we unveil what we've been up to, let's put it that way.**

**In addition, exciting news! The Skye/Bucky Short has been continued, by AiyanaS, who has started it off into a fic called The B.E.R.S.E.R.K.E.R. Stratagem. The first chapter, which is a slightly expanded and edited version of the Short is up, so get on over and let her know that you're keen to see more!**


	128. Fine By Me (Bruce & Beth)

**Fine By Me**

_Bruce Banner/Beth The Waitress_

I have no idea what the ship name would be, but they would be rather cute together. And since I've been asked by several people to include Beth as a character now, I thought this might be nice…

**Theme song:**

**T'Pau – The Promise**

**(There is background Darcy/Sam happening here, which is another ship that there isn't enough of).**

**Now that I'm getting into some really obscure ships – and now that I think I've satisfactorily proved to myself that I'm **_**capable**_** of writing these in under 1,000 words – I'm going to give myself some more leeway. I like taking those few extra words to sketch in the characters, flesh them out a bit more. So these are likely to get a little longer from here on in. Hope you enjoy!**

"Bruce," Darcy said thoughtfully one day, "when was the last time you actually left the Tower?"

He flinched. Glanced across at the young woman. "Why do you ask?"

"Because your skin is turning a really unfortunate colour. And I don't mean green. You're looking very pasty. When was the last time you got some sunshine? And it doesn't count if you were on a mission and in Hulk form."

He had to think about it. And then think about it some more. When he hadn't come up with an answer within two minutes, Darcy took a no-nonsense tone. "Right. JARVIS, shut down all of Dr Banner's work. We're going for a walk."

"But…" he gestured at his workspace.

"Now."

The authority in her tone had Bruce's feet moving even before his brain acknowledged the command. "I see how you get Jane to eat," he remarked as she led him towards the elevator.

"At least you're capable of feeding yourself," Darcy said, "but apparently not of remembering that vitamin D is essential for human health. As of tomorrow, you are officially on the Morning Coffee list."

"The what?" he blinked at her. "I don't like coffee…"

"You can have tea. The Morning Coffee list is the list of people I drag out of the Tower every morning to ensure that they actually get some outside time every day. It includes Jane, Tony and now you. Steve and Sam join us sometimes after their run."

Bruce thought about it for a moment. "All right," he said with a shrug. "Sounds like a good idea. As long as I can have tea."

Darcy only rolled her eyes.

The café Darcy and her little band of pasty scientists (as she called them) frequented was only a block from the Tower. It had outside tables and, Bruce couldn't help but notice, a really pretty blonde waitress who gave Darcy a smile and a wave as soon as she saw the group approaching.

"That's Beth," Darcy said, "she's lovely. Steve saved her life during the invasion and she flatly refuses to charge him for anything, so Tony always leaves her a hefty tip."

Beth had a really gorgeous smile, Bruce saw, as she came up to their table a moment later, her pad at the ready.

"Morning Darce! What can I get y'all today?"

She had a sweet-honey voice and lovely blue eyes, her golden hair wound up in a complicated knot and then tumbling in silken waves past her shoulders. Bruce swallowed and studied his menu. _Too long since I was around an unattached, attractive woman_, he realised.

"This is Bruce, Beth," Darcy introduced him, "he likes tea, what varieties do you have?"

"I'll get the list," Beth said cheerfully to the handsome dark-haired guy with the very distinguished grey streaks just starting to come in at his temples. She didn't see the shocked look come over his face as she walked away.

"Bruce?" Darcy said perceptively. "Are you all right?"

"Those – are my soulmate words," Bruce said numbly, watching Beth walk away. She was about the right age, he realised; his words had appeared when he was fifteen, and she looked to be in her mid-to-late twenties. "I have to go." He was on his feet and blundering away before the others could even react.

"Sorry, Beth, problem," Tony gabbled as Beth came back to their table, looking surprised as Darcy and Jane bolted after Bruce. Tony shoved a hundred-dollar bill into Beth's hand. "Have a nice day!"

"But you didn't even order anything!" Beth tried to protest, but Tony was already gone. She shook her head, took the bill inside and stuffed it into the shared-tips jar. She'd never even consider keeping it for herself, even though she was the Avengers' favourite waitress. _All_ the staff at the café benefited from Stark's largesse.

Beth was a little surprised at the end of her shift, to come out of the café and find Sam and Darcy waiting for her. "Hi guys, I'm just finishing but I could get you coffee…" she started, only for Sam to shake his head.

"Will you walk with us for a minute, Beth?"

She shrugged amiably, walked up the street with them towards the Tower. "What's up?"

"The guy who was with us this morning, Bruce," Darcy started. "He's, um, Dr Banner. One of the Avengers."

Beth stared blankly.

"The green one."

"Oh my God, the H…" she stopped herself as Darcy put a finger to her lips. "I see. The green one. Yes."

"Bruce is a very lovely guy," Darcy ran out of words and gave Sam a desperate look. He squeezed her hand and took over.

"Who got a bit of a shock this morning when you said his soulmate words."

"Sam, I was going to try to break that gently!"

"You seriously think there's a gentle way to break the possibility that someone's soulmate is, er, the green one?"

Darcy looked at Beth, who'd turned slightly pale and stopped walking to lean heavily on a streetlight. "Maybe we should have made her sit down."

They ended up taking Beth into the Tower lobby and sitting her down there, sitting on either side of her.

"You don't have to do anything about it. Bruce is adamant that, and this is a direct quote, 'No poor woman should have to be saddled with the horror show that is now my life'," Darcy told her. "He has no intention of ever coming back to the café."

"Oh," Beth said softly, and just sat in silence for a moment. Sam and Darcy were quiet, giving her time to process. "Well," she said softly at last, "I don't think it's up to him, is it? Soulmark words are a guarantee. He's going to say them to me at some point, if he _is_ my soulmate."

"I'll be honest, Beth," Sam said steadily, "I think Bruce really needs someone like you in his life. Someone gentle and steady. Whether he'd let you in or not, I don't know. But if you really are his soulmate, you might have a fighting chance. It's a question of whether _you're_ prepared to take the risk. And I won't lie and say that there _aren't_ risks."

Beth's chin lifted. "I'm not afraid. Fate gave him a soulmate for a reason. If it's me, then I won't leave him to face whatever comes all alone."

Both Sam and Darcy gave her looks of respect. "Good for you, Beth," it was Darcy who spoke. "So. How would you like to proceed?"

She took a deep breath. "When would be a good time for me to go talk to him? Alone?"

Bruce was making his lunch in the small but fully equipped kitchen on the same floor as his lab when the door closed behind him. Light footsteps approached. "Hey, would you like some of this sandwich?" he said cheerfully, assuming from the footsteps that it was Jane.

"Thank you, but I already had lunch," a honey-smooth voice answered after a moment, and he slowly stiffened.

Beth walked around the counter, a small smile on her face, and looked up at him. "Those are my words, in case you were wondering," she said, untucking her peach blouse and tugging it up to reveal his cramped script on her side.

"I never meant – oh _hell_," he ran a distracted hand through fluffy, rumpled curls. Beth itched to smooth his hair. "I didn't want you to know. I knew as soon as I'd said it that I shouldn't have let _anyone_ know."

"Don't you think you're being a little unfair to me?" Beth laid her hand very gently over his on the counter. "Fate paired you and me for a reason. I'm _meant_ to be with you, Bruce."

Her eyes were so blue, he felt as though he could drown in them. Slowly, Bruce turned his hand over and wrapped his fingers around hers. "You're going to be stubborn, aren't you?"

Beth smiled sweetly. "Absolutely. Mr Stark already offered me a job, so I'm going to be hanging around here a lot. You'll just have to learn to put up with me."

He huffed a little bit, but she could tell he didn't really mean it. "I take it you know that I – about the Other Guy?"

"Sam and Darcy told me."

"I'm surprised you didn't run screaming."

She only smiled and tightened her hand around his. "I was right there at work when the Chitauri came, Bruce. I saw horrors, up close and personal. The big green guy who smashed alien monsters out of the sky? He wasn't one of them."

He found a smile coming to his face at that.

"Give me a chance, Bruce," Beth pleaded softly. "Give _us_ a chance."

"I'm fairly sure I'm going to fall hopelessly in love with you and never want to let you go. I'm the clingy type," he confessed in a rush, completely undone by her eyes.

"That's absolutely fine by me," Beth's smile widened and he absolutely couldn't help leaning into taste her soft pink lips.

**1516 words**

**Beth's definitely underutilised in fanfiction. I'll be writing more of her, I think. Who else do you see her with? Apart from Steve, since they already talked…**


	129. Tall Dark and Dastardly (Rumlow & Beth)

**Tall Dark and Dastardly**

_Rumlow/Beth_

Cross Waitress (she does get quite cross with him, LOL)

**Theme song:**

**Bryan Adams – Everything I Do (I Do It For You)**

He'd been watching Rogers for weeks. For a supposedly smart man, Cap had grown very lax, got into a routine. It would have been laughably easy to kill him on one of his morning runs through Central Park. The problem was, Rumlow's orders weren't to kill him. Von Strucker wanted Rogers alive, and that was going to be a lot trickier to achieve. So Rumlow watched and waited, looking for a weakness. A chance to strike.

He found the chink in Rogers' armour eventually. Cap liked to stop at a particular café after his run, and he always sat outside with his latte and read the newspaper – actual paper, like the antique he was. He didn't stop every day, though, and after a while Rumlow realised why. Rogers only stopped if there was a particular waitress on duty, an attractive blonde with a sweet smile who fussed over Cap. They always talked for a few moments when she wasn't too busy; Rumlow had to wonder if Steve fancied her. She didn't seem like his type, though. Maybe he just liked having a friend who was 'normal'; the waitress was probably a breath of fresh air in the Avenger's chaotic life.

_Well_. Rumlow smiled to himself. _Time to find out just how much Cap valued his little friend_.

Beth sighed wearily as she climbed the last flight of stairs to her apartment. There was no elevator in the building, which was the only reason she could even afford the sixth-floor shoebox where she lived. Any more expensive and she'd need a room-mate, which she'd hate. The company was nice enough, but people always seemed to take advantage of her good nature.

"What's a nice girl from Kansas doing in the big city, Elizabeth Ann Jackson?" she murmured to herself for the thousandth time, turning her key in the door and leaning wearily against it to shove it open. _Huh_. It didn't seem quite as stiff as it usually did today. She pushed it shut behind her, dropped her bag on the tiny hall table and kicked her shoes under it, padding wearily towards the couch.

Where there was a man, sitting quite at his ease. Pointing a gun at her.

"Don't scream. You won't like what will happen if you do."

Beth froze with her mouth open, but not a sound came out. She just stared incredulously at the man, wondering what the hell to do. _Say something? Don't say anything? Goodness, he's very good-looking_, her traitorous brain pointed out, in the midst of her panic. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, Italian-looking with high cheekbones and thick dark stubble which would probably give the most amazing beard burn _oh my God Beth stop it_.

"Good girl," he said softly, stood up and moved towards her, keeping the gun on her the whole while. Even though he looked as though he could probably break her in half without hardly trying.

She felt warm breath on her neck as he stepped close, and shivered.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Rumlow said quietly, feeling the woman – not much more than a girl, really – shiver with fright. "Just do as you're told and everything will be fine."

She nodded jerkily. His hands closed on her wrists, warm and powerful, pulled gently, and she realised he was bringing them around in front of her, securing them with cuffs. He'd sheathed the gun at some point and for just a moment his arms were around her.

"All right, Beth, come and sit down," he pushed her gently towards the couch. She had a brief moment of stupidity wondering how he knew her name – she'd taken her name badge off at work – and then shook herself. _Stupid_. He was in her apartment waiting for her. He probably knew her SAT scores, never mind her name. She sat down and looked up at him, shaking with fright.

The poor girl was too scared to speak, and Rumlow knew a moment of pity. He went down on one knee to put himself at her eye level. "Beth. Seriously, I'm not here to hurt you. But you've made a friend of someone who I need to talk to, and I can't exactly walk up to the front door of Avengers Tower and knock."

There was only one person who he could be talking about, and suddenly Beth was fighting mad. As he slipped a phone out of his pocket and glanced down to check it, she linked her hands together to make a double fist and swung hard (a Kansas girl didn't last long in the big city without knowing at least some self-defence, and she had three big brothers who'd made sure she wouldn't be an easy victim), clouting him right on the temple, a knockout blow. She was on her feet and running for the door before he'd even hit the ground – and he'd somehow recovered and caught her before she got there, grabbing her around the waist and swinging her easily off her feet.

"No! No, you asshole, I _won't_ be used so you can hurt him!" Beth planted her feet on the wall, bent her knees and shoved off hard, toppling them both over – and then she was flat on her back underneath him, pinned by his strength, her cuffed hands trapped between them. He stared into her eyes from a distance of a mere couple of inches.

"What the _fuck_ did you just say?"

_Oh, shit_. In her panic, she'd forgotten that she'd vowed not to say anything. Beth panted with terror, her eyes wide and panicked.

"Where is it? Where's your mark?"

"No!" she screamed as he pulled back and started unfastening her blouse. He paused a moment, looking at her face, reached slowly for the next button. She shut her eyes with humiliation as he opened it, looking down at her stomach, at the words written there.

_Don't scream. You won't like what will happen if you do._

"Fucking hell," he had absolutely no idea what to do as he stared down at his soulmate. At the tears starting to leak from the corners of her closed eyes. Finally, he rebuttoned her blouse with shaking fingers. Helped her to her feet and led her back to the couch.

Beth didn't open her eyes until she felt him fiddling with her handcuffs, and then she looked down with astonishment to see him removing them.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice very small. "Are you going to kill me?"

He laughed roughly. "I can't bring myself to hurt so much as a hair on your head. No, Beth. I'm gonna let you go, and then I'm gonna disappear, and you're gonna forget you ever saw me, all right?" He looked around the room, at the bright pictures she'd hung on the walls in an effort to brighten the tiny drab space, the soft shabby couch, the books untidily piled on the coffee table. "You don't need someone like me in your life. I've taken too many wrong turns along the way."

The tears were still trickling down her cheeks as he released her, and he reached out and tried to wipe them away with calloused fingers. "Hush. It's all right, sweetheart. You're safe now." He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on her trembling lips. "Goodbye, Beth. Whatever you do, don't tell anyone you met me, and especially not that you're my soulmate. My enemies would use you to get to me just as I planned to use you to get to Rogers. And some of them wouldn't be as gentle as I've been."

She nodded. "I don't even know your name."

"And you never will." Dark eyes looked into hers for an endless moment, and then he was gone.

She sat on the couch wondering if it had all been just a bad dream.

It took Beth almost three months to realise that she had developed some sort of fairy godmother. Or godfather, as the case might be. The changes in her life were so minuscule she didn't even notice at first. Her apartment door no longer stuck. The erratic hot water heater stopped being erratic. The electricity bill never even came. Her phone miraculously never ran out of credit.

It was almost Christmas when she came into her apartment and discovered it toasty warm, the dirty dishes in the sink miraculously washed up and put away, and suddenly twigged what was going on.

"Oh God, how could I have been so stupid?" Beth groaned to herself. "Muggles don't get house-elves!" She laughed a bit at her own joke, and then shook her head and raised her voice. "I'm sure you can hear me, Mr Tall, Dark and Dastardly. I really don't need this – whatever it is you're doing. And it's vaguely creepy, so please stop."

There was no reply. Not that she'd really expected one. But the electricity bill came that month as usual, and her dirty dishes piled up in the sink.

She assumed he'd taken her at her word and left her alone.

Until she got sick.

In the middle of a major blizzard.

And her phone was out of credit.

Beth lay on her couch, shivering and listless, unable to summon the strength to stagger to her tiny kitchenette. She wanted a drink – badly – but the last time she'd tried to stand she'd ended up on her knees and given up, crawling feebly back onto the couch. She was running a fever, she could tell; her head pounded miserably and she felt too hot even though the room was cold. A fit of coughing wracked her slight frame and she couldn't stop, not until strong arms lifted her, supported her as a cup was held to her lips. She opened her eyes, looked into dark eyes in a handsome, stubbled face.

"I don't want you," she coughed weakly.

"I'm sure you don't, sweetheart. But right now you need help and I don't see anyone else putting their hand up," Rumlow said grimly. He'd stayed away too long, he realised, had tried to give Beth the privacy she'd asked for. But he couldn't help coming back, drawn like a moth to a flame, and it was a good thing he had because she was desperately ill, burning with fever. He lifted her gently in his arms, carried her to her small bed. "I'm gonna get you some medicine, Beth." He smoothed tangled blonde hair back from her flushed face gently. "Gonna make you all well again, and then I'll leave you in peace, I promise."

He nursed her devotedly for three days, scarcely leaving her side, sleeping on the floor beside the bed. It was only when Beth was back on her feet that he said quietly;

"I have to go."

"Do you?" she asked, turning to look at him. They were in the kitchenette, moving easily around each other as they made a simple meal of soup and sandwiches.

"I'm afraid so," he cupped her cheek in his hand gently. "I only came to check on you, Beth. But I couldn't leave when I saw how ill you were. You're better now."

Eyes troubled, she stared up at him. "Will I ever see you again?"

He shrugged. "If you need me, I'll come to you."

She didn't ask how he'd know. She probably wouldn't like the answer. "I still don't know your name," she said quietly.

He hesitated for a long moment. "Brock," he said at last, and then he bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. "Take care, Beth."

"Goodbye, Brock," she whispered, but it wasn't until he was gone that she let the tears fall.

The city – once so big and vibrant and full of life – seemed dull and dead to Beth, and she began to wonder why she was even there. Her brothers were constantly emailing her and begging her to come home, go back to Kansas: they had good lives there, Derek running the family farm, Jacob the local veterinarian and Thomas, with his brothers' help, had bought the feed store and was making it into a profitable business. They'd all married, had kids; Beth would be returning to the bosom of a large and loving family. And finally, she cracked.

"I'm going back to Kansas," she told Steve one morning as she served him his coffee.

"Really?" He surveyed her face, said perceptively, "Disappointed in love, Beth?"

"Something like that," she smiled tightly. "I'm just treading water here in the big city. You can't take the girl out of Kansas forever, it always calls her back, I think."

"Click your heels three times?" Steve grinned, and Beth laughed.

"Something like that. Only it's cowboy boots for me, not ruby slippers."

"You go get 'em then, cowgirl," he offered his big hand for her to shake. "I wish you only the best, Beth."

"You too, Steve," she smiled back at him. "Take care of yourself now. Don't go doing anything rash."

He laughed a bit bashfully at that, and when she returned to his table to clear his cup after he'd gone, she discovered he'd left her a hundred-dollar tip. Smiling, she tucked it into her pocket.

Not satisfied with a mere 'welcome home', her brothers decided to throw a party to welcome her back. And at that party, her sisters-in-law seemed determined to introduce – or in most cases, re-introduce – her to every eligible male in the county.

"And that's Chad Hunter, he works at the real estate…" Derek's wife Shelby said.

"Yes, we went to school together. He was a creep then. Doesn't look as though much has changed," Beth said dryly as Chad accepted a refill of his drink from her fifteen-year-old niece and took a good look down her blouse at the same time.

"Um. Yes," Shelby said, cast her eyes around the room. "Oh, and the new sheriff! You must meet Sheriff Rumlow, Beth, he's only been here a month and I swear every woman in town is swooning over him." She lowered her voice. "If I wasn't very happily married to your brother, I'd be all over him like a rash too."

That made Beth laugh, and since Chad was eyeing her lasciviously and edging in her direction, she followed Shelby across the room willingly enough towards a tall man dressed all in black with his back to them, talking to Derek.

"And here's the guest of honour!" Derek saw her coming and held out his arm with a broad grin, "my gorgeous baby sister, Sheriff!"

The sheriff turned around. Dark eyes looked down at Beth, a slight smile curved the hard mouth she'd spent months fantasising about, and a low, husky voice said;

"Hello, Beth."

She almost fainted. "Brock?"

"You two know each other?" Shelby looked delighted.

"I was stationed in New York for a while before getting the job here," Brock shrugged, his eyes on Beth's. She'd gone as white as a sheet. "Small world, hm, Beth?"

Eyes wide, she couldn't think of a thing to say, let the others carry the conversation while she tried to regain a little of her composure. She barely noticed Brock separating her subtly from the group, leading her outside.

"What are you _doing_ here?" she managed to gasp when she finally realised they were alone.

"Sheriff," he tapped the tin star on the breast pocket of his black shirt.

"_Why?_"

He shrugged, looked a bit sheepish. "If there was ever going to be a chance for us, it had to be somewhere that I could have a new start. I knew you planned to come home, I came to check the place out, actually, make sure it was safe for you here."

"How – you were reading my email!" she realised. "But – _sheriff_? Somehow I had the impression that you were on the _other_ side of the law?"

"For a while. But I am, genuinely, perfectly well qualified for the position. Here or anywhere. Ask around. Crime rates have dropped since I took the job."

Somehow, that didn't surprise her in the slightest. He was most definitely a man who knew how to get the job done, and that hard dark stare would have even the most hardened criminal quaking in his shoes. Slowly, Beth started to smile.

"You're staying?"

"For as long as I'm wanted."

She stepped towards him, linked her fingers with his. "Get used to being a Kansas boy then, Brock Rumlow. There's no place like home."

"Home is where you are," he said quietly, drawing her close and putting his arms around her. "Always."

**2770 words.**

**I don't know, one day after I say I'm going to be a bit more casual about the word limit and THIS happened. God damnit.**

**I'm blaming my husband for this one. He's been watching Banshee, which is where the bad guy-turning-ruthless-sheriff plot kind of exploded into my brain, and who better than Rumlow for the part? And who else but a sweet girl like Beth could make him turn his back on his wicked ways?**

**Hope you enjoyed! Apparently you all want to see Beth with everybody – I think Bucky got the most votes, followed by Clint, Sam and Tony, and a couple for Fury, Pepper, Darcy and Coulson – so yes, they'll all get added to the list and they'll get written as inspiration comes to me!**


	130. A Really Long Story (Bucky & Beth)

**A Really Long Story**

_Bucky/Beth_

WinterWaitress

**Theme song:**

**Florence And The Machine – Never Let Me Go**

**So, it was a pretty overwhelming majority that wanted to see Bucky and Beth. I just had to let my brain percolate the plot for a little while…**

"See ya tomorrow, Steve," Beth sang out cheerfully as she saw Steve get up from his usual table, folding his newspaper. He blushed slightly, as he always did, and waved. She thought occasionally about asking him out for a coffee date – goodness knew he was her type, tall and muscular, but – well, she liked her men with a bit more of an _edge_ to them. She sighed, clearing Steve's coffee cup and pocketing the folded twenty-dollar bill he'd left under it with a smile. Always the same. A twenty-buck tip for a six-dollar coffee. Such a sweet guy.

She wiped the table down and looked around. Her section was empty, and her shift was over, so she headed inside and took off her apron, cheerfully farewelling her co-workers. It was a beautiful spring day and the sun was shining; she decided to walk home instead of taking the bus.

Beth was only five blocks from home when she began to get the oddest sensation that she was being followed. She looked all around but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. There were plenty of people about and it was broad daylight too; she didn't feel too worried. She wasn't even carrying a bag, wasn't much of a target for a mugging.

Arriving back at her building, she made her way up the stairs, fishing her key out of her pocket. She was already regretting her decision to walk home; her feet were aching. Well, perhaps she could put them up for a few hours before she headed out for her evening classes. Waitress by day, nursing student by night, that was Beth's life.

On the way home after class, Beth began to get the feeling that she was being followed again. What hadn't bothered her by day took on an entirely different feeling at night and she found herself looking around nervously, hurrying her steps home from the bus stop.

There was a homeless guy sitting on the steps of her building. She'd seen him around a bit lately, and while she'd never spoken to him she'd smiled at him once and he'd actually smiled back, the expression turning his stubbled face to one of handsomeness. Beth raced up the steps past him, digging frantically in her pocket for her key, oh _where_ was the damned thing?

"Are you all right, ma'am?" came a low voice. She froze, looking down at the homeless guy wide-eyed. _Surely not. Oh, that would be just my luck. Homeless dude. Fantastic._

"I think I might be being followed," Beth blurted, throwing caution to the winds. Watching for his reaction. But instead of a start or a wide-eyed stare, he moved smoothly to his feet and down the steps, looking down the street.

"Huh. You're right. Get inside." And just like that, he was gone, off down the street in a dead run – and quicker by far than your average starving homeless dude. Beth stood staring after him for a moment, mouth open with shock, before coming back to herself and scrabbling for her key again. She still hadn't found it when he returned.

"HYDRA," he said crisply, "we're going to have to go."

"I – what? HYDRA, the Nazi terrorist group?"

"Yup," he took her hand, quite firmly, and pulled her down the steps after him. "Come on, Beth. Time to go. I dealt with that one, but there'll be more of them coming."

"But… how do you know my name?"

He paused, cursed under his breath. "You know Stevie. I was – getting up the courage to ask you to give him a message from me."

"Stevie who?" she said plaintively, utterly lost now. "I don't _understand_. Why would HYDRA be after me… oh my God." She put it together suddenly. HYDRA and _Steve Rogers_.

"You're his friend, and about the only one of those who's vulnerable. The rest of them live in Avengers Tower or are SHIELD agents. But you, you're an easy target, Beth."

"I – we're not exactly close!" she was letting him pull her along the street, walking quickly. "Why would anyone come after me to get to him? And wait, how do I know you're not HYDRA?"

He stopped, turned to her suddenly, and she found herself staring up into eyes that were incredibly blue, beneath the streetlight they were standing under. "Do you think you could be soulmates with someone who was HYDRA, Beth?"

Staring up into his eyes, she could only shake her head. "You – are?"

"You said my words, and judging from your reaction when I asked if you were all right, I said yours. Now's not a real auspicious time to be comparing handwriting, though."

The shocks were coming a bit too thick and fast for Beth, but she nodded bravely. He was quite right. "Where are we going? And – what's your name?"

He hesitated a moment. "Call me Bucky. And as for where we're going," he made a face. "I'm afraid we've no real choice. Not if I'm going to keep you safe from HYDRA."

"So – where?"

For answer, he pointed wordlessly up into the sky.

"Oh, _no_," Beth said, looking at the massive _A_.

"I'm not all that keen on the idea myself," Bucky said wryly, "but I'm not entirely sure that I can keep you safe without help. And I'm not willing to risk you, Beth."

She melted a little bit at the soft note in his voice then, and let him pull her onwards again. He drew her in close to his side, put his arm around her, his hand closing gently on her shoulder.

"If I tell you to run," he said quietly, "you run like hell and don't stop until you're inside the Tower, all right? Tell them Bucky sent you. That you're my soulmate."

"What…" Beth started, but then there was the screech of brakes behind them and Bucky pushed her forward.

"Run, Beth!"

The command in his voice was so powerful she was running before she even thought about it. And she didn't look back, she was only two blocks from the Tower and there was help there, surely…

She was intercepted even as she pelted in through the doors, her hair askew, sweating and panting.

"Now now, miss," a tall, heavily built man intercepted her. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I need to see Steve Rogers," Beth panted frantically. She didn't miss the not at all discreet eye-roll that statement bought her. "My name's Beth, he's a friend of mine, Bucky's my soulmate, tell him Bucky needs help!" She ran out of breath and collapsed to lean against a marble column.

"Did you say _Bucky_?" the man said, staring.

"Yes! Please, just call Steve!"

A siren suddenly started wailing. Beth flinched, eyes going wide with panic, her eyes going to the doors – but there was nobody there.

"I took the liberty of transmitting our guest's information to Mr Rogers and Mr Stark," a disembodied English voice said.

"What the hell?" Beth looked around frantically.

"That's JARVIS. He's the AI that runs the Tower." The man surveyed her critically. "Well,apparently somebody thinks what you have to say is important enough to set off the Assemble alarm."

"The what?" Beth thought vaguely that she really needed to stop saying _what?_ But then it would also be really nice if her life stopped being totally insane today, thanks very much.

"Here they come now…"

Elevator doors pinged open and all of a sudden Beth was surrounded by costumed superheroes. The only reason she didn't scream her head off was because Steve was there, in his full Captain America paraphernalia, but she'd seen him that way before. She put her hands on the rim of his shield and looked up into his eyes.

"HYDRA came to try and grab me, to get to you because we're friends. Bucky stopped them. He's my soulmate. There's more of them out there…"

Steve's jaw actually dropped. And then he was bolting out the Tower doors.

"Safe room," a solidly built man with a bow in his hand shouted over his shoulder before racing out the door after Steve and the others.

"Come on then, miss. I'm Happy, we'd better get you secured…"

By now utterly bemused, as well as quite frightened, Beth followed docilely. The elevator took them downwards and within minutes they were indeed in a safe room, quite a comfortable on. Happy stayed with her, trying to talk to her, but she was in no mood for it, just paced up and down until the disembodied voice spoke again.

"The mission is completed; the Avengers are returning to the Tower. All HYDRA elements have been subdued."

"What about Bucky?" Beth demanded.

"Mr Barnes is returning to the Tower with the Avengers," JARVIS told her.

"His name is Bucky Barnes?" Beth blinked. "Huh. Must have been named after the wartime hero."

Happy was looking at her pityingly. He called up an image on a computer screen and turned the monitor to face her. "Is this the man?"

"Yes," she nodded, seeing the long dark hair, thick black stubble and piercingly blue eyes.

Happy tapped another key and the image was replaced by another, a young man in WWII-era military uniform.

"Wait," Beth leaned forward, staring disbelievingly. "That's not possible."

"Miss Beth, you're in Avengers Tower. Impossible is pretty much a daily event around here. You kinda get used to it. Eventually."

She was still staring at the monitor when Happy opened the safe room door to admit Bucky and Steve, walking side by side.

"Beth," Steve said, and then saw what she was looking at. "Ah. Yes. That."

She wheeled around, pointed a shaking finger at Bucky. "How. The. Fuck!"

"Ah," Bucky winced slightly, "that's a kinda long story, doll."

"And why the _hell_ are you pretending to be a homeless hobo?"

"Well, technically, until about five minutes ago…" he grinned at her expression. "_Really_ long story."

Steve was grinning as he watched the pair of them. Happy had discreetly slipped out. "Y'know," Steve said with a grin, "I always thought Beth was a sassy dame, Buck. Should have known she'd be a match for you."

They both turned and stared at him.

"Aaaaand I'll leave you alone. There's a guest apartment upstairs when you're ready. JARVIS will direct you." He backed hastily out and closed the door behind him.

"I am really officially done with today," Beth said, and to her horror she felt tears welling in her eyes. Bucky crossed the room to her in three giant strides, pulling her into his arms. And – _why_ was one of them making strange squeaking and whining noises under the sleeve of his hoodie? She just wasn't ready to deal, and she found herself pressing her forehead against his shoulder as he held her close.

"It's all right, Beth," Bucky murmured softly. "Everything's going to be all right."

**1815 words.**


	131. Can I Call You Mulan (May & Deadpool)

**Can I Call You Mulan**

_May/Deadpool_

DeadMay or MayPool.

**Theme song:**

**Black Eyed Peas – Shut Up**

**With thanks to islndgurl777 on Tumblr, who came up with the words that these two say to each other… Deadpool's to May kind of got expanded on, since he always does talk too much, though.**

Melinda May was thoroughly sick of superpowered people. Even the ones who were supposedly on her side. How Barton and Romanoff dealt with being the only unenhanced humans with the Avengers – and yes, Stark and Rhodes' armour and Falcon's wingpack totally did count as cheaty superpowers, as far as she was concerned – she couldn't imagine. She ducked as one of Deathlok's rockets whistled past her ear.

"Watch the aim, Mike!" she yelled angrily, and the next moment lost her footing and landed on her ass as Skye sent a quake rippling under the feet of the monsters they were fighting. She hadn't realised that May was close enough to be affected.

"Oh, I am so fucking done with this," May said to the sky as she lay flat on her back.

A moment later the view was blocked by a tall guy wearing a red and black skinsuit, bending over her with a hand offered to help her up. "Hey. You lie down a lot in the middle of fights? Is it something to do with your power? What is your superpower by the way, sweetheart?"

She stared up at him, making no move to take his hand. "Putting up with you for the rest of my life, apparently."

"_Really_?" Ignoring the bullets whizzing past, he pulled off his mask to reveal a handsome face, brown eyes and blond hair. And he looked way younger than he had to be, considering that Melinda May had been born with the large block of words written in a sloppy hand all over her stomach. "_Excellent_. You're gorgeous."

"I'm not dealing with this very well right now," May admitted. The gunfire died down then, and she chanced sitting up and looking around. "I'm not superpowered in any way, in fact I was just thinking about how much superheroes annoy me."

"Ah well," he shrugged. "I annoy everybody. Nothing new there." His hand was still extended, so she finally accepted it. Not that she needed any help in getting to her feet, _obviously_. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder when she stood beside him. He was looking her up and down appreciatively, his grin widening. "Hot damn, I really hit the jackpot in the soulmate department!"

May was just thinking the same thing. At least looks-wise. The guy's mouth was going to be a problem. Although – perhaps she could find out if it was good for more than just talking her ear off. Reaching up, she grabbed the back of his neck and yanked his head down.

"Shut up."

"Mmmf, mmm, mm…" he was still trying to talk for the first couple of seconds of the kiss, but then fell silent apart from the occasional moan into her mouth, muscular arms wrapping around her. His eyes were glazed when May let him go, smiling with satisfaction.

"Good to know I have a method for shutting you up."

"Babe, you can shut me up any time you like," he sighed happily.

"What's your name?" she eyed the two swords sheathed on his back. "Wait. Oh my God. Are you _Deadpool_?"

That grin broke out again. "You've heard of me! That's so excellent! Yes, I'm Deadpool. But you can call me Wade. Wade Wilson, at your service, oh most beautiful soulmate. Do I get to know your name or can I just call you Mulan?"

"Hilarious. Because I've never heard that one before." She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm Melinda May."

"Delightfully alliterative, just like me!" he beamed down at her. And then he whipped around, drawing both swords – _oh, actually, they were katanas_, she realised – and neatly took off the head of a particularly ugly monster that had been trying to sneak up behind him. Glancing over his shoulder at May, Wade tipped his head.

"Come on, Melinda May. Let's go kill everything and then we can par-tay! Hopefully in bed, but I'm willing to go through the whole seduce-you-patiently routine if you insist."

She found herself returning his grin – it was really quite infectious, May realised despairingly. "The last guy I fell into bed with after a battle turned out to be HYDRA," she admitted.

"Oooh, I'm definitely _not_ with them. They like experimenting on people like me. Is that guy still alive? Can I kill him for you? Can I, can I?" he was almost bouncing, like an overexcited Labrador puppy.

May looked at the katanas, still dripping blood. Looked up at his eyes, bright and eager at the thought of committing wholesale murder and mayhem just because she said so.

"I think maybe I like you even though you do talk too much."

**775 words.**

**A short one, see, I don't ALWAYS struggle with the word limit!**

**Now, a little bit of personal (non MCU) thing I'm excited to tell you all about. Some of you may already know that I used to write in a very different fanfiction universe before my head got lost in the MCU. That universe being Jane Austen. And since copyright expiration means that Austen fanworks can actually be published and sold for forrealzmoney, and I'm one day hoping to become an actualfacts Real Live Author who can actually legitimately put down 'Author' for my profession… I published one of them. On Kindle.**

**It's called **_**The Best Of Relations**_** and it's a story exploring how Pride And Prejudice might have turned out differently if Elizabeth Bennet's Aunt Gardiner had known the Darcy family. (She came from Lambton. I don't understand how she **_**didn't**_**). It's in the Amazon Kindle store under my real name (Catherine Bilson, for those of you who don't know) and it's only $2.99 (US$)!**

**I don't expect you to buy it (though it would be lovely if you would like to) especially if Austen and P&P really isn't your cup of tea. That said, if you could take a minute of your time to go to Amazon and leave me a review that says something nice about my writing, that would be wonderful and a real help to me in achieving this dream of mine.**

**And thank you for even taking the time to read this, it's the encouragement of all you lovely folks who've reviewed and encouraged me in my writing that's finally helped me get up the courage to get this far.**

**Catherine Bilson AKA ozhawk**

**April 2015.**


	132. The Quick and the Dead (Pietro&Deadpool)

**The Quick And The Dead**

_Quicksilver/Deadpool_

QuickMouth

**Theme song:**

**Bryan Adams – Run To You**

**For CeliaEquus, who shouted DOIT DOIT DOTHETHING until I did.**

"I have to meet him."

"Who?" Logan sighed, looking up from the card table he was sharing with Gambit and Deadpool. They weren't playing for money, of course, they weren't stupid enough to play for stakes with Gambit. Wade had suddenly lost interest in the game and was watching the TV over the bar, which was showing the latest clash of the Avengers versus their villain of the week.

"That guy. The blond."

"Seriously, _ami_, you just lookin' to get laid, dere prob'ly ten guys in dis bar – and just as many girls, if dat what you in de mood for," Remy chuckled. "De Avengers, dey all very pretty, sure, but hard work. Have to put up with Stark, first problem."

"It's not that," Wade shook his head, still staring at the screen. "He's _faster than me_."

Logan frowned, bemused, but Remy's lips parted in an O of understanding – and surprise. "Well, you best be movin' then, _ami_. Best of luck."

"What the hell?" Logan muttered as Wade left the bar.

"His soulmark, _ami_. He's known many years that he was looking for someone faster than he was."

"Nobody's quicker than Deadpool!" Logan looked up at the TV in time to see a blue-grey blur cross the screen. "Huh. Except maybe him."

The Avengers were in the middle of a completely different battle by the time Wade caught up with them. And they weren't doing very well. Half the team were down injured when he got there, so he drew his katanas and dived in. His soulmate would turn up sooner or later.

"You're almost as fast as I am," an amused voice with an Eastern European accent right behind him.

Wade turned, a smile coming to his lips, only to vanish a second later. His blades slashed out, destroying the bullets which would have struck his soulmate's head.

"Lucky for you, huh?" he said.

Pietro's mouth fell open. The tall lean guy in the red and black skinsuit and mask had turned up in the middle of the fight and made himself extremely useful with those twin blades. The fight was nearly over so Pietro came up to check him out – no, not like that – all right, maybe a little bit like that, because damn, that ass in that skintight suit was a work of art... he had to shake his head to clear his thoughts. The last thing he'd expected was to find that Mr Two Blades was his soulmate.

"And lucky for me too," Wade said blithely, giving the speedy blonde a good look up and down. "Damn, boy, who designed that suit for you? Because they should totally get an award, it does really nice things for your arms and shoulders."

"What?" was all Pietro could get out, utterly stunned.

"I knew you'd be my soulmate, you're the only person I've ever seen who's quicker than me," Wade said cheerfully, "I hear they call you Quicksilver? I'm Deadpool. But call me Wade. I'd call you Quickie only it sounds kind of like I'm implying that's how we have sex and I'm kind of hoping for long, slow and sensual, actually. So what name would you like to make me scream later?"

Pietro found himself blushing, and wondering just how much this guy was older than him. "Um – my name's Pietro. Could I – please see your face?"

"Oh," Wade tilted his head, as though that hadn't even occurred to him. "Sure!" He yanked off his mask and grinned, showing off straight white teeth in a very attractive face. He couldn't be all _that_ much older than Pietro's twenty-two years, either. "So where's your mark, handsome?"

Pietro blushed even more fiercely. Wade's grin got wider.

"I'd hoped that was the case." And he _stuck his tongue out_ – revealing Pietro's scruffy scribble all over it.

_You're almost as fast as I am._

"Oh my God," Pietro had to put his hands to his face in an effort to cool the hectic flush on his cheeks.

Wade's smile gentled as he looked at the kid – and he really was just a kid, Wade remembered, thinking about when his mark had appeared. Sheathing his katanas and stepping closer, he put an arm around Pietro's shoulders. "Hey. It's all right, bud. Don't be embarrassed. You and me, we're gonna be a great team."

The answering smile was shy but genuine, and Wade couldn't help but lick his lips. Pietro's eyes fastened on the movement, followed his tongue. They were leaning in towards each other with hungry eyes when Iron Man clanked to the ground behind them.

"Sorry to interrupt," Stark's voice said, clearly amused, "and I can hardly believe I'm saying this, but this probably isn't the appropriate time or place for you two to be getting it on."

"How fast can you run?" Pietro asked.

"Pretty fucking fast."

"Want to take this someplace more private?" Pietro had finally gotten over his shock – and decided that he suddenly very much wanted to get his soulmate better.

"I am loving the way you think, speedster," Wade grinned. "Catch ya later, Stark," he flipped Tony the bird and turned to sprint after Pietro – who was _hella_ quick, gone way ahead of him, stopping briefly to speak to a dark-haired girl in a red jacket before joining him again.

"Who's the babe?" Wade asked once they were away from everyone, telling himself he wasn't jealous. Not at all. Of course, he managed to tell himself out loud, and Pietro laughed at him, even as he moved in close to Wade's side and tucked an arm around his waist.

"My sister."

"Ah! I won't try to seduce her then."

"Good," Pietro's free hand slid around the back of Wade's neck, pulled his head closer. "I'd take it badly amiss if you tried to seduce anybody when all you gotta do is say the word and I'm all yours," he murmured.

"What's the word?" Wade couldn't help but ask, even as his arms wrapped around the younger man.

Pietro grinned against his lips. "Now?"

**1010 words.**

**I like giving Deadpool his soulmark in weird and outrageous places, it seems. And yes. Pietro's is exactly where you think it is.**


	133. Gorgeous Blond Playboy Superhero(es)

**Gorgeous Blond Playboy Superhero(es)**

_Johnny Storm/Angel_

**Flaming Angel**

**Theme song:**

**Maria McKee – Show Me Heaven**

**You can blame Hiddentrickster for this one. A comment on the Armada on and these two assholes wouldn't get out of my head**. **(Incidentally, it's my headcanon that Steve Rogers is discovered to be Sue and Johnny's great-uncle).**

"Johnny, you're late!" his sister hissed, latching onto his arm and dragging him through the crowd.

"Eh, it's called making an entrance." He grinned and waggled fingers at familiar faces.

"That might wash anywhere else but this isn't a damn party! This is the first ever Superheroes Alliance meeting and even bloody Tony Stark was on time!"

"Oh, stop it, Sue. You're being all uptight. Didn't you manage to drag Reed out of the lab last night?"

That earned him a filthy look and a sharp pinch on the inside of the arm.

"Fine, fine," he sighed, rubbing at the newly forming bruise. "I don't really want to think about your sex life anyway."

"Good!" She tugged him forward again. "Come on, you'd better come and say hello to our host. You haven't met Warren, have you?"

"Sure I have," Johnny said.

"Well, he says you haven't. Going to the same parties and probably sleeping with the same people does not constitute an acquaintance, Johnny," Sue gave him a wry look.

Johnny had to think. Maybe he really had never spoken to Worthington. Sue was quite right that they did go to a fair few of the same parties, and often blue-eyed gazes met and nods were exchanged across crowded rooms, but – Worthington was always surrounded by hangers-on and devoted groupies of both sexes, and Johnny didn't like to look desperate. Even if the guy _was_ hotter than sin.

"Such a lovely guy," Sue was blithering on again. "It's a good thing he offered his place for this meeting, I think he's about the only person everyone can agree on as an ally already, even though he's technically one of the X-Men…"

They were moving through the crowd, and Johnny could see Worthington now, tall and blond. He had his wings out, magnificently white against his plain black clothing. _Damn, the guy really was gorgeous_. Angel saw him looking and gave him a wink, which Johnny returned.

"What's not to like?" Johnny said cheerfully to Sue as they arrived in front of their host. "Gorgeous blond playboy superhero," he offered a hand to Worthington to shake. _Dayum, I'd love to get me some of that_, he couldn't help but think. Angel was _spectacular_, all sharply chiselled blond beauty. And those pretty, pretty wings. Johnny couldn't help but want to feel those feathers all over his body.

"Johnny," Sue sighed, seeing the lascivious look her brother was giving Angel. "Warren, I'm sorry about him," she apologised, yet again, for Johnny's bad manners. The winged man was staring, mouth open, making no move to take Johnny's outstretched hand. "He's such an asshole."

"Yes," Warren said slowly, "but apparently you're _my_ asshole."

It actually took Johnny a full minute to get over the shock and to close his mouth, during which Warren's blue eyes started to twinkle with laughter and Sue stared between the two of them in utter confusion.

"I believe the correct term," Johnny said finally, "is _my_ gorgeous blond playboy superhero asshole."

"I didn't realise my soulmark was meant to describe _you_," Warren said with a smirk.

"Hey, if the cap fits, I'll wear it. Though I'd rather be wearing you."

"Oh, you will be," Warren stepped closer, his smirk turning dangerous. "You will be."

"Oh my God," Sue said, trying to step in between them, but since they were both a good deal taller than her they just stared at each other over her head. "_Tell_ me you're not really soulmates!"

"Only one way to find out," Warren said.

"I'm game if you are," Johnny responded, hands going to his belt.

"Oh my God not here!" Sue practically squawked. Everyone was turning to stare at them now. It was Steve Rogers who came over.

"What's going on here?"

"Hey, Uncle Steve, I met my soulmate," Johnny said cheerfully. "Isn't he gorgeous?"

"_Uncle_ Steve?" Warren let out a chuckle.

"Technically _great_-uncle. His mom was our grandmother's older sister," Sue filled him in.

"You two are…?" Steve looked from Johnny to Warren and back again.

"Yup. And hey, I provided the neutral venue, everyone enjoy the hospitality, please don't break anything if you get into fights," Warren waved an expansive hand around the Worthington mansion's spacious ballroom. "Eat, drink, be merry, negotiate nicely. And stay out of the master bedroom. We'll be busy in there."

Johnny was giggling uncontrollably as Warren grabbed his wrist and pulled him out of the room. Everyone was too shocked to follow them as they hurried up the stairs together, and then Warren was pushing closed a pair of ornate double doors and turning a key in the lock.

"Eat, drink, be merry, _negotiate nicely_?" Johnny managed to choke out through his laughter.

"I could have said 'play nicely' but somehow I don't think they'd appreciate being addressed like a bunch of toddlers in the playground," Warren grinned, pressing him up against the door. They were just about exactly the same height, and even though Warren appeared slimmer than Johnny, he could feel the immense strength in that wiry frame.

"Uhn," Johnny's brain short-circuited completely as Warren pushed up against him. "So," he managed after a few moments, even though he couldn't take his eyes from the other man's mouth, "where's your soulmark?"

Warren flashed that dirty grin again, leaned back and started unbuttoning his black shirt, pulling it open to reveal a leanly muscled chest. And Johnny's flamboyant scrawl across his left pectoral muscle. _Gorgeous blond playboy superhero_.

"Huh, self-fulfilling prophecy," Johnny realised. "I know you must be older than me, because I was born with my mark, but were you already…" he gestured at the wings.

"Yes. Fortunately, or I might have wondered what the fuck my soulmate was on about." Warren grinned again. "So where's your mark, hot stuff?"

Johnny licked his lips. "Behind my right knee," he admitted. He didn't miss the flare of lust in Warren's blue eyes. "I'm pretty flexible."

"Good," Warren murmured, leaning in closer. Their lips were almost brushing when he paused. "Is there anything I should know about your power before we start, Johnny?"

"Um," Johnny really couldn't think with the gorgeous blond so close to kissing him. "Just, I hope your feathers aren't flammable?"

Warren chuckled, warm air rushing over Johnny's lips. "Don't worry, I'm quite fireproof."

"Flame on," Johnny mumbled, just before Warren kissed him.

**1060 words.**

**Sorry there hasn't been a Short for a few days. I'm still reeling somewhat from watching Age of Ultron last week. And trying to deal with whatever the fuck is going on in Agents of SHIELD at the moment. And working on For Want Of A Nail with LadyWinterlight, and a million other things… but there are more Shorts coming soon, never fear!**


	134. Bedside Manner (Lincoln & Jemma)

**Bedside Manner**

_Jemma/Lincoln_

SparkyScientist

**Theme song:**

**These Kids Wear Crowns – Jump Start** (I have been looking for an excuse to use this song for AGES)

**Contains SPOILERS for S02Ep19. You have been warned.**

"Is he going to be okay, Jemma?" Skye pleaded frantically as they rushed the gurney through the base towards the medical centre. "He hasn't so much as stirred since I restarted his heart, I don't know how long he flatlined for…"

"I won't know anything until I get him hooked up and I can look at his brain waves, Skye," Jemma shook her head. "I'm sorry." She looked at the way Skye was holding on to the young Enhanced man's hand as they hurried the gurney along. "Were you and him, um?"

"What?" Skye blinked, looked down at the hand she was holding. "Oh! No. No, he was just – Lincoln's just a lovely guy, you know? He was incredibly nice to me. Reassuring, kind – he reminded me of Fitz, a bit, just a lovely brotherly guy."

Jemma looked down at the leanly muscled torso of the man on the gurney, and couldn't help but think that there were at least a couple of major differences that she could see from Fitz. She kept her mouth shut, though. "Well, let's see if we can't get your extremely attractive, brotherly friend back for you."

Skye looked at her with raised brows as they entered the medical centre at last.

"What?"

"Extremely attractive?"

"Who?"

"You just said Lincoln was _extremely attractive_." Skye grinned wickedly at her.

"Did I?" Jemma blushed, busied herself with the medical equipment. Distracted Skye by giving her cables to hold while Jemma sorted them and put two sticky electrode pads against Lincoln's temples. She connected the cables, turned on the EEG and held her breath, looking at the monitor. "Please don't flatline, please don't flatline…" she whispered at the machine. Let out a whoosh of air with relief as the encephalograph spikes began to ripple across the screen. And then screamed as it shorted out with a flare of electric blue sparks.

"Lincoln!" Skye shouted as the man's eyes snapped open. He pushed himself up to a sitting position with a convulsive shove of (very nicely muscled, Jemma noticed) arms.

"Lincoln, it's okay, it's okay, you're safe. We're among friends," Skye soothed gently.

He was breathing fast, looking around wild-eyed. Jemma couldn't help but reach out. "Please, lie down. You've been badly cut up." Her fingers hovered over the cut on his cheekbone. There were even deeper ones on his ribs, she knew. It had been impossible to stitch them on the quinjet with the bumpy, fast flight, all she'd been able to do was tape dressings over them and hope he didn't bleed too much.

He lay back down, looking up at her from bright blue eyes as Skye patted his hand and made soothing noises.

"This is Jemma, Lincoln, Jemma Simmons, remember I told you about her? She'll soon have you fixed up as handsome as ever."

"We'll need to give you a full examination," Jemma started, "I want to start an IV and you may need a transfusion…" He looked pale beneath the really very sexy scruff of dark blond stubble on his jaw and cheeks.

Blue eyes widened.

"Jemma, you're saying your thoughts out loud again," Skye began to giggle.

"What? Oh my God." She flushed scarlet. Wanted to flee the room, but he was her patient, she couldn't.

A warm hand fumbled for hers, and a strange rush of _something_ tingled through her. It wasn't exactly like static electricity – but it made a delicious shiver run through her whole body.

"I'm hoping," Lincoln said softly, "that you think more than just my stubble's sexy, actually." He stared up at the lovely young woman who'd said his soulmate words. He'd always known that he'd have to suffer in order to meet her – _please, lie down, you've been badly cut up_ was a pretty scary soulmark – but he didn't feel all that bad. Sore and aching, but not near-death. Although from the way Skye was looking at him, he might be wrong about that.

"_What_?" Pretty hazel eyes went very wide and Jemma stared at him incredulously.

Skye let out a laugh. "Lincoln, you incorrigible flirt, you're in no fit state to be making a pass at her!"

"It's not just that." He tightened his fingers on Jemma's hand, never looking away from her eyes. "Or, I'm _hoping_ it's not just that. I got some words on my hip that I'm hoping are in your writing, beautiful. And since I think I'm naked under this sheet, you can take a look if you like."

Her eyes slid down to his groin, and then back up to his face, a blush coming to her pale cheeks yet again. She was very pretty when she blushed, Lincoln found himself thinking. Made him think about how she'd look flushed from exertion with her hair tangled on his pillow… he had to push the thought aside. For now.

"Wait," Skye said, and they both jumped slightly. They'd both forgotten she was there. "Jemma, are those your soulmark words? Where is it, I've never seen it?"

Jemma's blush deepened even further. She was sure she was positively magenta by now. "It's not exactly somewhere I flaunt it!"

"Why?" Skye asked obtusely. "If Lincoln's is on his hip, yours would be – oh. Oh I see."

"Yes it's on my inner thigh and no I am _not_ showing you. Not until at least the third date," Jemma told Lincoln firmly as he opened his mouth. He grinned at her.

"That's all right, beautiful. Since I've no doubt you're going to be checking me _all over_ for injuries, you'll see mine anyway."

"I am going to leave you two alone," Skye promptly decided.

"Excellent," Lincoln said as the door slid shut behind Skye, "since we're alone, does this count as a first date, then?"

Jemma couldn't help but start to giggle. She pulled her hand free from his, reached for a packet of surgical gloves and snapped a pair on. "Let's start with the injuries I can see, hm?"

He sighed, but acquiesced, let her put in an IV line and start the drip before she began to probe at his side with gentle fingers. He couldn't restrain the pained hiss, though, and she straightened up.

"Lincoln, I think you'd better have some painkillers before I start. I can use local anaesthetic to numb the wound site before I start stitching, but some morphine…"

He grinned at her. "I've had morphine before. I turn into an absolutely disgraceful flirt."

"What, worse than you are now?" she asked tartly, collecting a syringe and bottle. "I think I shall take the risk."

"I think you just like me flirting with you," Lincoln grinned as the needle slid into his arm. Her shy smile told him that he was right, and he marvelled that other men must be stupid or blind, not to see how gorgeous this brilliant woman was. She should be immune to flirting, not pleasantly surprised by it. More fool them.

He was very still as she carefully swabbed and numbed his side, put in a row of tiny neat stitches. His mouth never stopped, though, spilling praises to her beauty, her medical skills. And when she set the needle and thread aside at last, he reached for her, tried to pull her into his arms.

"Lincoln," Jemma couldn't help but laugh. "You're in no fit state for this."

"Just one kiss," he wheedled hopefully. "Come on, beautiful. I probably won't even remember it in the morning, with the amount of juice you've pumped me full of. There's no pain right now."

"If I kiss you, will you behave?"

Blue eyes gleamed up at her. "No."

"You're going to be stubborn and difficult, aren't you?"

"Well," he smirked. "I am _your_ soulmate. What do you think?"

Jemma found herself smiling. And leaning in towards him almost unconsciously. Lincoln's lips parted slightly, and she stared at them, thinking that he really had a very delicious mouth.

"I'm glad you think so," he murmured, and she realised despairingly that she'd once again spoken her thoughts out loud. He really did seem to have the power to drive all sense right out of her head.

"That's not my power, beautiful," Lincoln said softly, and then his warm hand was on the back of her neck, urging her closer, and that _feeling_ was racing through her body again, not quite static electricity, _better_, somehow, sparkling along her nerves and making her tremble as he pulled her gently down onto his chest.

Their lips met, and more energy sparkled through Jemma. It was, she suddenly realised, incredibly arousing, and she let out a moan against Lincoln's mouth. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth to taste her, to explore.

It was long minutes before they separated, and Jemma was quite out of breath and flushed from an entirely different reason than embarrassment. Lincoln grinned up at her.

"I really like your bedside manner."

**1490 words.**

**Lincoln's totally a flirty troll in this. But he did look utterly delicious all banged-up and half-naked in tonight's episode, I totally couldn't help myself.**


	135. What? (Sam & Fitz)

**What?**

_Sam/Fitz_

Falconerd or maybe Fitzam?

**Theme song:**

**Coldplay – Fix You**

**Though this is set after Age of Ultron, it doesn't contain any spoilers. You're safe, if you haven't seen it.**

"Stark's not here right now," Maria Hill shook her head at Sam. "Took off for somewhere exotic with Potts last night."

"Damn!" He scowled, looking at the ruined wingpack spread out on the table in front of him. "And he didn't leave me a spare?"

"He's been a bit busy cleaning up the mess after Ultron," Maria understated. "If you didn't keep breaking them, Wilson…"

"Well forgive me for fighting the bad guys and getting my ass shot at!" he snarked at her. She laughed.

"Look, I've got contact details for someone who might be able to help. He might actually be a better engineer than Tony. Or he would be, if he had Stark's resources."

"Really?" Sam's eyebrows went up, intrigued.

"Really. Let me make a call. I doubt you'll be allowed onto their base, but they might let him come here."

"Who the hell does he work for?"

She only looked at him, her lips firmly closed, and Sam sighed and shrugged. "All right. You make the call, then."

Maria popped her head back around the door a few minutes later, chuckling at Sam's expression as he poked forlornly at his shattered wings. "He's on his way. He'll be here in a few hours. Be nice, now."

"I'm always nice!" Sam protested, but she was gone and he wasn't sure she'd even heard. "Be nice, hah, it's not like I'm Romanoff," he muttered, picking up a screwdriver and putting it down again. He could do basic maintenance on the wings but he really had buggered them this time. Better to wait for the engineer.

Who turned out to be _gorgeous_. A slender, blue-eyed young man with tightly curled blond hair, who followed Maria into the lab a few hours later and cast Sam a shy look.

Sam actually had to suppress the urge to lick his lips. Suddenly he understood Hill's admonishment to be nice. She knew his type, probably suspected that he'd try to eat the boy alive.

_What a delicious thought_… he had to shake it off as Maria introduced them.

"Leo Fitz, meet Sam Wilson."

"It's really an honour to meet you, sorr," the kid said in a soft Scottish accent that made Sam's knees go weak. And then the _words_ registered.

"What?" he said stupidly.

"I said it's an honour to meet you?" Fitz tilted his head curiously. "You're the Falcon, aren't you? An Avenger. Huge honour. I'm a big fan."

Hill had just nodded briskly and turned to walk out again, leaving them alone. Leaving Sam feeling like an utter idiot.

"I. What? I don't suppose – that's what your soulmark says?"

"What?" Fitz blinked.

"Does it say 'what'?"

"Yes… _what_?" Fitz's blue eyes went very wide. "No. You can't _possibly_ be."

Sam visibly deflated. "You – you're not interested?"

"You're kidding, have you _seen_ you?" Fitz waved a hand agitatedly in Sam's general direction, trying and failing to encapsulate in a single gesture the complete and utter hotness of the man before him. Sam's lips twitched. "But you _can't_ be my soulmate."

"Why – oh, you've already found yours?" Sam drooped again.

"No!" Fitz swallowed. It couldn't possibly be – _could_ it? He reached back and untucked his shirt and T-shirt, pulling it up at the back and turning around. "This – is this your writing?"

Sam licked his lips as Fitz exposed a large expanse of pale skin to show the single word written right in the middle of his back, just below his shoulder blades. Right where the neatly printed words just over Sam's solar plexus would touch them if…

"Yes. That's my writing," he managed to get out. Pulled up his own shirt. "This yours?"

Fitz let go of his own shirt and turned around to see – _oh, good Lord_ – Falcon baring a deliciously muscular six-pack. He just stood staring with his mouth open for a long moment, barely able to breathe.

"Yum," he said finally, caught Sam's amused expression. "I mean, yes. I mean, yum as well. Oh bloody hell."

"You are completely and utterly _adorable_," Sam took a few quick steps over to him, lifting his hands to frame Fitz's face, running strong fingers into his blond curls. "And I'm afraid that I can't stop myself from thinking very wicked thoughts about bending you over this bench and doing lots of extremely debauched things to you."

Fitz licked his lips. "You don't want me to fix your wings first?" His hand came up hesitantly to rest on Sam's broad chest.

Sam glanced at the mess of metal on the bench. "No. Although, it might be better if we use a different bench."

"I'm good with that."

"With what?"

"Different bench. Debauched things. All of it." Fitz had the feeling that he was living in some kind of really bizarre dream. Although, if this was dreaming, he _really_ didn't want to wake up. He clenched his fingers tightly in Sam's T-shirt as the taller man leaned down to kiss him.

**827 words.**

**I just want Fitz to have an utterly bemused romance with someone who he thinks is impossibly sexy, and who thinks he's totally adorable, all right?**

**And just incidentally, I know it's utterly wrong and he got exactly what he deserved, but is anyone else mourning right along with me the loss of Bakshi last night? I screamed a massive great NOOOOO at the screen. My sons now think I'm mad. Or possibly HYDRA.**


	136. Whatever It Takes (Bucky & Rumlow)

**Whatever It Takes**

_Brock Rumlow/Bucky Barnes_

I'm pretty sure the ship's called RumBuck…

**Theme song:**

**Bruno Mars - Grenade**

**I am warning you now, this one is full of feels. **

**So, I was looking at the Bucky/Jemma Short... because yes, I will be continuing it... and thinking... what if HYDRA **_**did**_** manage to find Bucky's soulmate in order to better control him? **

**What if that soulmate was a young Navy SEAL, just recruited to join the STRIKE team?**

Brock frowned down at the paperwork in front of him.

"Sir," he asked finally, "this form doesn't seem to be right."

"What's the problem, Mr Rumlow?" Agent Sitwell replied irritably.

"The Soulmates section. There isn't a box which says _I choose not to declare whether or not I have a soulmate. _I thought that was a legal requirement for all government forms?"

Sitwell's smile was almost a sneer. "This isn't the Navy, Mr Rumlow."

_No, _Brock thought. _If it was, you'd be calling me Commander Rumlow and showing me a damn sight more respect._

"This is SHIELD. You're playing in the big leagues now. So put down the details of your soulmark and finish off the damn form."

"I didn't say I had a soulmark..."

"I don't think you'd be so damn worried about it if you were Blank."

_Fucking spies._ Brock bit his lip, and then he sighed and ticked _Yes._

_If Yes, please write out the precise wording of your soulmark._

He tapped the pen on the desk. Glanced at Sitwell, who sighed and ostentatiously checked his watch. Finally, he wrote out '_Have I ever seen you before? I don't remember'' _before signing the last page of the form and putting the pen down.

"_Thank_ you, Mr Rumlow," Sitwell said sarcastically, before picking up the form. He looked at it for a few moments, frowning, then looked back at Brock. "You have quite distinctive handwriting."

Brock shrugged, humiliated to admit the truth. "I grew up on the streets. Was pretty much functionally illiterate until my teens, when I wound up in juvie before I cleaned up my act and joined the Navy. But you knew that."

"Yes," Sitwell was still looking at his handwriting. "We'll be in touch, Mr Rumlow. Now I believe you have your entrance exam with Medical to get to?"

Brock thought no more of Sitwell's odd behaviour. Not until about six months later, when his STRIKE team were sent to Russia for a mission and ended up in a SHIELD base in Austria afterwards.

"Agent Rumlow," a voice said, and he looked up from where he was methodically cleaning his weapons.

"Agent Sitwell," he said politely.

"Come," was all Sitwell said, and Brock shrugged, getting up to follow, leaving his weapons behind at Sitwell's gesture.

The agent led him into what was clearly a very restricted section of the base. Brock blinked as he recognised the man waiting for them. "Mr Pierce," he said with a very respectful nod.

"Agent Rumlow." Pierce stared at him from hard blue eyes for a moment. "You are about to meet one of SHIELD's most closely held secrets."

It seemed an odd choice of words - how do you _meet_ a _secret_? Until the door opened again and a man walked in.

Dressed in black, he was as solidly built as Brock himself, maybe an inch or so taller. Jaggedly cut dark hair fell against pale cheeks, wintry blue eyes stared at him.

_Gorgeous_. Brock pushed the thought down hastily. Sitwell and Pierce were staring at him too, so he smiled quickly.

"Hello, sir," he said politely. From behind him, he heard a hiss of breath, but the blue-eyed man was speaking.

"Have I ever seen you before? I don't remember."

Brock's mouth fell open. He wheeled to stare at Sitwell. "Is this a trick?"

Both Sitwell and Pierce were looking unaccountably delighted. "No trick," Sitwell shook his head. "Two words isn't much to go by, but... Asset," he raised his voice. "Remove your upper body coverings."

Brock spun back around to see the man - the Asset? _What the hell? - _taking off his jacket to reveal a T-shirt beneath, and a _goddamn metal arm._

He was almost too busy staring at the arm - _way_ more advanced than any prosthetic he'd ever seen - to pay attention when the Asset stripped off his shirt as well. Only, there were two words on his left pectoral muscle. _Hello, sir._ And they were indeed in Brock's very distinctive writing.

"Are you my soulmate?" The Asset asked suddenly.

"I - I don't know. This isn't a trick?" Brock appealed to Pierce, who struck him as more trustworthy than Sitwell for some reason.

"No, Agent Rumlow. No trick. We're very pleased to have found you, actually." Pierce's smile reminded him of a shark. "_Very_ pleased. We'll leave you two alone. You'll want to get to know your soulmate. Bond with him too, I don't doubt."

Sitwell and Pierce left, and Brock looked around. It wasn't the most comfortable of rooms, but there was a chair and a bed. Brock took the bed, sitting cross-legged. The Asset didn't move.

"Please, won't you sit down?" Brock asked. It was a long moment before the other man did. Still shirtless, Brock's eyes were drawn inexorably to that incredible arm, to the red star on the shoulder, the horrible scarring where it attached to his body. "What happened to your arm?" He couldn't help but ask.

"...I fell," came the eventual response.

"Ah. Well, um, my name is Brock. Brock Rumlow. What's yours?"

There was no reply. Only staring, from those lovely blue eyes.

"I can't call you the Asset. Do you have another name?"

"Yasha," he said finally.

"That's Russian, but you don't sound Russian."

"I - speak Russian."

They were getting nowhere. Brock felt helpless. Stupid. He didn't know what to say.

"Can I see the words?" Yasha asked suddenly.

"Yes, of course!" Brock scrabbled at his clothes, took off his jacket, the empty weapon harness, his shirt. Showed the row of words in a firm hand on his right pectoral muscle.

"We'd have to be face to face to bond," Yasha said. "Would you like that?"

"Fuck yes, you're gorgeous," Brock blurted, and for the first time an expression touched Yasha's face, a small smile.

"I was just thinkin' the same thing," he drawled, and for a moment the accent was pure Brooklyn.

Brock smiled, and Yasha stood up. Held out his flesh hand.

"Nobody will disturb us. It is possible that we will not see each other again for a long time, but I wish to bond with you. To know that - there is someone who cares for me."

Brock hesitated. He really wasn't in the habit of jumping into bed with someone he'd just met. But... this wasn't some random stranger. This was his _soulmate_. And if Yasha was right about their being separated... he reached out, took the offered hand and tugged lightly, bringing Yasha towards the bed.

"I'd like that."

Brock later realised that there had to be a camera in the room. It was a scant ten minutes after they'd bonded, were lying sated in each other's arms, when the door opened and Pierce walked in.

"Get dressed," he ordered, and Yasha moved instantly to collect his clothes. "You too, Agent Rumlow. There's something you will need to see."

The only thing Brock wanted right then was to wring Pierce's scrawny neck, but Yasha was clearly going, and where Yasha went, Brock would go too. While he could. He dressed quickly, followed Pierce and Yasha from the room. Caught up with his soulmate and took his hand, which earned him a small smile.

They went even deeper into the base, ending up at what appeared to be a laboratory.

"You know what to do," Pierce told Yasha. "Get ready."

For the first time, Yasha seemed to be struggling with something. "I do not wish to," he said finally.

"If you want him to see another sunrise, you will obey," Pierce said quietly, and Brock suddenly realised Pierce was talking about _him._

"Wait, what?" But Yasha was already moving, stripping his clothes off again, climbing into a big metal tank-like thing at the side of the lab. A technician closed the door, pushed buttons.

"What the fuck?" Brock gasped as there was a hiss and white smoke began to flood the tank. _Liquid Nitrogen_, the large bottle beside it read. "You'll kill him!" He turned on Pierce, "stop it!"

There were guns pointed at him, but he didn't care, running over to the machine, frantically pushing buttons. Nothing worked, though, and he could only watch with despair as Yasha's blue eyes closed, the glass of the viewing port frosting up.

"Calm yourself, Agent Rumlow," Pierce said coolly. "Are you still able to feel your bond?"

Brock blinked with surprise, realising that, actually, he could. "Yes," he said slowly. "What the hell is this thing? Some sort of cryogenic storage? I thought that was lethal to humans..."

"To a normal human, perhaps. The Asset, however, is enhanced."

Brock stared at his soulmate's frozen face for a long moment before turning back towards Pierce.

"All right. Somebody better start talking. What the fuck is going on?"

Pierce gave that sharklike smile again. "Have you ever heard of HYDRA, Agent Rumlow?"

xoxoxoxox

He didn't see Yasha again for two years. He had to _earn_ it, Sitwell had told him maliciously, had to prove his worth to HYDRA.

Sometimes Brock wondered if it was worth it. If all the stains he'd put on his soul could ever be expunged. But it seemed every time he came close to rebelling, to walking away, they'd take him to Yasha again, and for the sake of those few hours together, he admitted wretchedly to himself, he'd have done far worse. HYDRA _owned_ him. Owned them both.

He knew Yasha wasn't always kept in cryo. Sometimes he could feel Yasha out and about in the world, but they were never able to spend enough time together for the bond to truly deepen, for him to be able to read Yasha's emotions.

A hundred times, he planned their escape. Tapped out suggestions in Morse code against Yasha's skin – the only way they could communicate privately, their every moment together monitored. It was about five years after their first meeting when they finally saw an opportunity and made a break for it.

They got less than a week of freedom before HYDRA tracked them down. Shot Brock with a tranquiliser dart and held a knife to his throat to make Yasha comply. And then they dragged them back and put Yasha in the chair, and made Brock watch.

Brock screamed himself hoarse, because as Yasha's eyes went blank, their bond _broke_. Pierce ordered Yasha put straight back into cryo afterwards, giving them no chance to even try to re-bond. Told Brock that he had some serious work to do to earn that right.

"Listen to me carefully, Agent Rumlow," Pierce said, leaning in and getting right in Brock's face, "there is no way that you are ever going to walk away and go play happy families with our Asset. He's worth too much to this organisation. The only way you get to be with him at all is if you comply. You can make this all easy and pleasant for both of you. Or you can suffer nobly – knowing that your choices are causing him to suffer as well. So. What's it going to be?"

Brock ground his teeth, staring at the other man. Thinking how damned easy it would be to snap his scrawny neck. But the trouble with HYDRA was that there would always be another head…

"Hail HYDRA," he said finally, dropping his gaze.

"Good man," Pierce said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I knew you'd see the light."

xoxoxoxox

_Twenty fucking years we've been suffering for these bastards_, Brock thought, watching as Yasha was pushed back once again into the chair. He still looked just as young as the day they'd met, whereas Brock had definitely aged. Blue eyes met his and Brock held them, his lower lip bitten between his teeth until it was bloodless. Yasha shook his head minutely and Brock let go and sighed.

Every time Yasha was wiped, it took less and less time for him to remember Brock. Whatever HYDRA had done to him, it was slowly beginning to break down. Pierce had been ordering wipes more and more frequently over the years. They were down to every few months now, and every time the pain of a broken bond was just as agonising, just as fresh, as the first time.

"This is your fault, Agent Rumlow," Pierce said quietly, as he walked past him on his way to the door. "Your failure. You're the one who let Rogers and Romanoff escape custody. Think on that."

Yasha and Brock's screams sounded in perfect sync as, once again, their bond was forcibly ripped asunder.

xoxoxoxox

Lying in his hospital bed, most of his skin missing, knowing he was slowly dying, Brock couldn't help but think back on his last few hours with Yasha. They hadn't been given the opportunity to re-bond. He had no idea whether his soulmate was even still _alive_. But he couldn't help but think of the way Yasha had looked at him in the back of the van on the way back to headquarters after they'd captured Rogers and his allies.

"I knew him," he'd said, his brow furrowed. "That man on the bridge. I _knew_ him."

Was it even possible? How _old_ was Yasha, anyway? He hadn't aged since the first day they met, and Brock knew he'd spent only about half the last twenty years in cryo. Was it _possible_ that he'd been around since WWII, that he and Steve had clashed before Rogers went into the ice?

Had Yasha even been on HYDRA's side, back then?

It was too exhausting to think about. Brock's eyes slid closed as the painkilling drugs pumping into his system overcame his desire to stay awake.

He woke as strong arms lifted him. Cried out in pain at the friction on his burned skin.

"Hush," a low voice soothed. "I'm getting you out of here."

"Yasha," was about all he managed to whimper before the pain overcame him and he blacked out.

Brock woke to no pain. Soft light, like reflected firelight, on a wooden ceiling above him. He turned his head and saw Yasha lying beside him. There was medical equipment around him, tubes running into both their arms…

His throat was dry, but he still managed to croak out "What have you done, Yasha?"

"I don't think that's my name," Yasha replied quietly, turning his head to look at him.

"I've never thought it was really your name. It was just the only one you had. What is it, then? And what have you done?" Brock lifted his arm, looking at the tube in it.

"Blood transfusion. Fortunately, we have the same blood type."

"And yours is super-soldier healing factor blood," Brock realised, looking at the pink, healing skin where the horrific burns on his arm used to be.

"You're going to be all right, Brock," Yasha leaned towards him, stroked his cheek gently. "We're free. Pierce is dead, HYDRA in ruins."

Brock laughed bitterly. "Free, my ass. I'm probably on every bloody Most Wanted list on the planet. Where the hell are we going to go?"

"Well," came the reply, "I might have a few ideas about that. You see – I think I know who I used to be."

Paper pressed against Brock's fingers. He lifted it, looked. A pamphlet, on the Howling Commandos exhibition at the Smithsonian. He remembered Cap had talked about it, told the STRIKE team they should all go. That they reminded him of the 106th, back in the day.

"What's this?" he said, squinting to focus.

"Second page."

He opened it. And stared at the photo of Yasha there, a Yasha with short hair, but very distinctly the same man.

"James Buchanan Barnes," Brock whispered, dazed.

"He – the Captain – he called me _Bucky_."

"Oh God," Brock let out a bitter laugh, realising what he'd done. He'd alienated the one man who might have had a chance at helping him get Yasha – _Bucky_ – away from HYDRA. "He'll kill me."

"Not if I tell him not to. Not if I tell him we're soulmates." Bucky stroked Brock's cheek again tenderly. "We're not going anywhere until you're strong again. Until we've bonded. Again. Then, if they kill you – they'll kill me too." His wintry blue eyes were bright with hope, with yearning. "This is our chance, Brock. Maybe our only chance to be together. Under the protection of the Avengers! They'd never let HYDRA get us back…"

_You, maybe_, Brock thought. But he forced a smile, knowing that Bucky couldn't feel the lie behind it, not with their bond broken again. "I guess it's worth a try."

xoxoxoxox

They walked into Avengers Tower together three weeks later, hand in hand. Both removed their hats at the same time and looked up at the nearest camera.

An alarm began to shrill, and less than a minute later Iron Man was there, pointing various dangerous-looking bits of his suit at them. Cap was only a few seconds behind, Hawkeye dropped out of a ceiling vent and Romanoff – well, neither of them actually saw where she came from. She just seemed to materialise out of thin air, but Brock was fairly sure she hadn't managed invisibility powers. Yet.

"Get away from him, Buck," Cap said coldly. "He's HYDRA."

"He's exactly as much HYDRA as I am," Bucky replied quietly. "Whatever you do to Brock, you do to me. He's my soulmate. We're bonded."

Brock wished for a camera at that moment to capture the look on Steve's face. And then he couldn't help but snicker as Tony said;

"JARVIS, did you capture that expression? Please tell me you caught that."

"Yes, Sir," came the AI's urbane voice. "What would you like me to do with the image?"

"Put it in the 'Cheer Tony Up when Pepper's Mad At Him' folder," Stark replied, "and label it 'Cap's Grumpy Cat Face'."

That did it; Brock couldn't hold the laughter in any more. Bucky started chortling too, Hawkeye was cracking up, and even Natasha permitted herself a surprisingly girlish giggle.

"Ah, fucking hell," Steve muttered grouchily.

"_Language_!" half a dozen voices responded.

**3016 words.**

**I'm actually quite proud of myself for NOT allowing this to turn into the epic novel it clearly wanted to be, covering all the awful things HYDRA forced both Brock and Bucky to do for each other's sakes.**

**And while I didn't like the 'language' joke in AoU – it felt clunky and played deliberately for laughs, and I think Steve would probably swear like a trooper (he WAS a trooper), I thought it would be kind of funny to turn it back on Steve here. I like the idea of it normally being STEVE who swears like hell and is trying to do better because PR, and the others who are forever telling him to watch his language. That would actually be WAY funnier.**

**Hope you enjoyed this and I didn't crucify you too much with the feels at the beginning. It's why I felt the need to end on a humorous note!**


	137. I'm Desperate (Clint & Beth)

**I'm Desperate**

_Clint/Beth_

HawkWaitress

**Theme song:**

**Eric Clapton – Wonderful Tonight**

**Obviously, this and any other ship including Clint will disregard the existence of Laura. She's his sister anyway, K? K.**

Clint sighed and eyed the coffee machine on the kitchen counter with disfavour. Goddamn Stark anyway. Why did he feel the absolute need to 'improve' every single thing in the Tower? In this particular case, he'd 'improved' the coffee-maker to make Stark's coffee exactly how he liked it. And no other way.

Which unfortunately left Clint grimacing over the piss-weak, decaffeinated – was that _chai_ latte? It was _foul_.

And Pepper was so posh she flatly refused to allow anything resembling instant coffee within the confines of the Tower.

"All I want is a black coffee," Clint said dismally to the empty kitchen. "Is that really so much to ask?"

Even JARVIS didn't answer. He sighed. "I'm gonna have to get dressed and go look for some, aren't I?"

"I do not doubt that the people of New York have seen stranger sights than a man in his pyjama pants going to get coffee, sir," JARVIS replied urbanely, "but since there is snow on the ground you might find it a touch on the chilly side."

"You're getting very sassy, JARVIS," Clint grumbled, heading back to his room and resolving to go buy his own coffee machine later that day. And keep it well away from Stark.

"I'm quite sure it's only since you moved in, sir," JARVIS responded.

Even the damned AI always got the last word. Clint got dressed, though, because as usual JARVIS was right. It was damned cold outside. Shrugging into his coat, he buttoned it up before heading for the elevator.

"So where's good around here for coffee, JARVIS?" he asked on the way down.

"There are a number of coffee shops in the locality with excellent reviews. Miss Lewis, Dr Foster's assistant, swears by one just two blocks from the Tower."

"So point me there, my good artificial intelligence." Clint pulled out his phone, and a moment later JARVIS had put a map up on the screen with a flashing dot on it. "Very good. Thank you. I shall return fortified by coffee!"

After JARVIS's remark, he wasn't actually surprised to see Darcy at the counter in the coffee shop, perched on a stool chatting with the barista and a pretty blonde waitress.

"Hawkass!" she greeted him cheerfully. "How's them arrows?"

"Flyin' straight," he smiled back at her.

"This is Clint, Beth," Darcy said to the blonde, "you gotta look after him. He looks like he's fallen victim to Stark's ghastly coffee as well."

The blonde was real pretty, big blue eyes and a charming smile as she laughed at Darcy's remark. Clint couldn't quite resist giving her his best puppy-dog eyes.

"You gotta take pity on me. I'm desperate."

The big blue eyes widened even further, and then she gave him a lovely shy smile. "You sure don't look it."

"Believe you me I would probably sell you my soul in exchange for a decent coffee right now." Just then Clint's caffeine-deprived brain caught up. "Wait. What did you say?"

A blush touched her pretty cheeks. "I said you don't look desperate."

He shook his head. "No. That's not the words." Unbuttoning his coat and shrugging it off, he pulled up his sweater and the T-shirt underneath, baring his stomach all the way up to the base of his pectoral muscles. Just under the curve of his left pec ran the row of words. _You sure don't look it._ "Is this your writing?"

He was giving her those adorable puppy-dog hopeful eyes again, which was ridiculous, because Beth knew very well that he was _Hawkeye_. And he surely couldn't genuinely be hopeful that his soulmate was a penniless New York waitress!

She swallowed nervously. Took out her order pad and scrawled the five words on it before tearing the sheet off and handing it to him. "It - looks kind of like a match."

"A perfect match," Clint said wonderingly, "isn't it, Darce?"

"Um, what?" Darcy had been staring entranced at his abs. "Oh! Yes, perfect, congratulations, you lucky thing," to Beth's surprise, she spoke to Clint, not Beth. "Don't you break her heart now, Beth's a sweetheart."

"And gorgeous," Clint tugged his clothes back down into place, gave Beth a shy but cheeky grin. "I won't ask you to show me yours."

She blushed redder, thinking of the words that ran just above her right nipple. "Quite a few dates will need to go by first."

"Which takes care of question one. Question two is when's the first date gonna be?"

Beth smiled shyly. "I finish at two."

"I'll be here." He grabbed her hand, turned it palm up and kissed it. Embarrassed by her rough, reddened skin - the skin of a hardworking waitress - Beth tried to snatch it back, but then she felt the even hard skin on Clint's fingers, looked down to see the scars and hard calluses on his hand. It was certainly not the hand of a man who'd be afraid of a little hard work. Looking back up into his blue eyes, she smiled.

"I'm lookin' forward to it. But right now, why don't I get you that coffee?"

"You are a queen among women," he told her quite sincerely.

**865 words**

**And Clint would definitely treat Beth like a queen. I can just imagine the pair of them retiring off to the Barton family farm together and raising a passel of little blond kids with lethally accurate aim…**


	138. Dumpster Divers (Jemma & Matt Murdock)

**Dumpster Divers**

_Jemma/Matt Murdock_

_DareScientist? Or possibly BioDare or BioDevil?_

**Theme song:**

**Jess Glynne – Hold My Hand**

_SPOILERS for the season finale of Agents of SHIELD season 2._

_I'm firmly convinced that we've been Easter Egged. Recall, if you will, in Season 1 when Eric Koenig required everyone to take the Lie Detector test at Providence Base. When asked what would be in a box they found washed up on the shore of a deserted island, Jemma said "The TARDIS."_

_Raina described the stone as 'like an ocean, waves crashing on the shore'._

_I don't know why, but as Marvel always say, I'm quite convinced that 'It's All Connected'._

Jemma screamed with terror as the thick black wave sucked her up. It covered her mouth, her nose, her eyes – for a horrible, endless instant she couldn't breathe. And then she was lying on a cool smooth floor, sucking in noisy gulps of air.

It was very dark. Pitch black. She lay still for a moment, widening her eyes, trying to let them adapt to ambient light, but there was none. Just pure, Stygian blackness.

Nor was there any sound. It would be almost complete sensory deprivation if not for the slick coolness of the floor under her hands. Slowly, Jemma pushed herself up to hands and knees and began to feel her way around. She started muttering under her breath, then a little louder, glad for some sound even if it was only her own voice.

"Well either I'm not actually inside the stone or it's a lot bigger on the inside than the outside," she muttered. "Maybe it's a TARDIS. An alien TARDIS. Does that mean I get to be a Time Lord?" She chuckled a little harshly.

It took her a moment to realise that she could see something. That a faint glow was beginning to illuminate the space where she was kneeling. She looked up but couldn't make out the source of the light.

It was a large space, maybe thirty feet across. Circular. Domed, actually, Jemma realised as she looked up. A perfect hemisphere. No windows. No doors. She got to her feet and walked slowly around, tracing her fingers over the curved walls, but there were no gaps in the smooth, slick surface.

The only thing in the chamber other than herself was a circular pedestal in the exact centre. Slowly, Jemma made her way over. It reminded her only too well of the one she'd seen shattered in the middle of the alien city under San Juan. At least there was no Obelisk on this one.

Instead, there were oddly carved symbols carved into the top. They didn't really look like the alien writing. But then, Jemma remembered, that hadn't _been_ writing. It had been a map. She moved around the pedestal, tilting her head, trying to see if the symbols looked familiar. They seemed to be in three groupings, and beneath each grouping were three small depressions. Jemma held her hand over one set of depressions curiously. They were wider spaced apart than seemed natural for human fingers. She could just about make the stretch – three fingertips touched very lightly to the dark stone and the depressions suddenly flared with a dull orange light.

"Oh bloody hell!" Jemma started back as an itch started up on her forearm suddenly. She pushed at the sleeve of her blouse, shoving it up, staring at the rows of little bumps raising up on her forearm. "What the hell – is that _Braille_?"

"Target located," a voice suddenly said. Jemma blinked in a panic. She had the feeling that the voice hadn't been in English, but in that case, how had she understood it? And then she couldn't help but scream as the black waves came up out of the floor to swallow her up again.

"Aaarrgghhh… _ow_!" she hit her elbow on something hard, and then landed on something less hard. Something slightly squishy. And oh dear Lord what was that _smell_? Jemma gagged.

"_Now_ where am I?" she almost wailed.

"Crushing my ribs," a low voice groaned underneath her, and she screamed again and flailed. "Ouch, fuck, watch that elbow…"

"What is that _smell_?" Jemma did wail this time, somehow scrambling away from the man in the small, confined space.

"Considering that this is a dumpster, do you really want to think too hard about it? What are you doing in here anyway?" She could see, dimly, in the faint orange glow of a flickering street lamp, the man she'd landed on, slowly pushing himself to a sitting position. He seemed to have something over his head.

Jemma considered and discarded several responses to that before saying "I fell in. What are _you_ doing in here?"

"Hiding from the guys who were kicking my ass, but I think I passed out." He shrugged, groaned with pain again. He seemed rather more hurt than just her landing on him would indicate, and Jemma's instincts kicked in.

"You're hurt. I'm a doctor, I can help…"

"Yeah, well – could we do that out of the dumpster?" He stood, reached for the edge, and she realised he was wearing a hood or mask of some sort that came down over his eyes. He scrambled out of the dumpster and offered her a hand.

Well, she didn't have too many options. She had no idea where she was – or _when_, even – and staying in the dumpster didn't seem like the best of ideas. Accepting the offered hand, Jemma scrambled out.

"What's your name?" she felt like she should introduce herself. "I'm Jemma, Jemma Simmons…"

He hesitated. "Matt Murdock." There was another long moment before he said "I'm blind, Jemma. And I've taken a few hits, I'm a bit disoriented. What street are we on?"

"Blind?" He hadn't moved like a blind man. There'd been no fumbling for the dumpster edge, he'd climbed out and landed with lithe grace, despite his injuries, before reaching back in for her.

"Yes. If you could help me…"

"Of course. But I've no idea what street this is. It's an alley."

"You said you fell in the dumpster, though, I assumed you meant from a window…"

"It's a long story." Carefully, she took his hand, tucked it into the crook of her arm. He was a tall man, clear of six foot, but he moderated his stride to walk beside her to the end of the alley. "It's such a long story I'm afraid I have to admit I don't even know what city I'm in."

Matt chuckled quietly. "Oh, I can tell this is going to be a good one. New York, Jemma. Hell's Kitchen, to be precise."

"Ah. And, er, what date is it?"

"May the fourteenth." He seemed to guess by her silence that she needed more than that. "2015?"

"Oh thank God." She sagged with relief. It was the same day. And, hopefully, the same universe. "Um, did anything significant happen a few weeks ago? Involving the Avengers and a piece of Europe that, er…"

"Went flying and got blown up? Yes. Jemma, I can tell this is going to be a really good story, but I'm thinking it might be best told in _private_."

"I think you might be right," she agreed in some relief. She wasn't sure why, but she had the oddest feeling that she could trust Matt. "I'll tell you the story. And I'll treat your wounds." In the better light as they neared the main street, she could see a bloody gash down the side of his jaw. "And in return, maybe I could use your phone?"

He had a very nice smile. "That sounds like a good deal to me."

About fifteen minutes later, they staggered in through the door of his apartment.

"You'd better get washed up before I treat those cuts," Jemma decided, "do you have a first aid kit?"

"I do. But ladies first." She saw that nice smile again as he reached out and pressed a light switch, obviously for her benefit. "Can't have my doctor smelling like dumpster trash while she's treating me. Couldn't be very hygienic."

Matt fetched her a T-shirt and a pair of jogging pants – they were clearly going to be far too big but Jemma would just have to manage – and directed her to the bathroom. She made it a quick shower and change, and went out to the other room to find a large bag on the table, bandages and other supplies spilling out of it.

"Why do I have the feeling that you get injured a lot?" Jemma asked when Matt returned. "And not just the kind of injuries that a blind guy might normally expect to get."

He hesitated before pulling out a chair and seating himself. "I'm in a risky line of work."

"And what's that?" she set to cleaning the gash on his jaw first.

"I'm a lawyer."

"For who, the Mob?"

"Whoever will hire me." He smiled again. "And you, Jemma? You said you were a doctor. Where's your normal practice?"

She sighed. "That's part of that long story. Let me get you patched up first. Where else are you hurt that I can't see right now?"

"The rest's just bruises." His smile seemed rather more world-weary. "Taking a beating's a skill of mine. Although – there was a burning sensation along my ribs earlier, I'm not sure if the skin was broken. It felt kind of odd."

"Let me have a look, then."

He pulled up the T-shirt he was wearing, showing off a very nicely muscled stomach. And four words along his ribs, in Jemma's precise script.

"Oh," she said blankly.

"What is it? That's an odd note in your voice."

"It's – it's a soulmark. It says _now where am I_. And… I'm pretty sure it's my writing. But – I don't have a soulmark."

"Nor do I!" His face tipped up towards hers, eyes closed. "Or I never did. Are you _sure_ you don't have a mark?"

"I… wait." She grabbed his hand in hers, brought it to her forearm, pressed his fingertips against the peculiar bumps which had come up when she touched the pedestal. "Is this Braille?"

Matt's fingers were light along her arm as he traced the bumps, and then he started grinning. "It is, and probably a good thing too, since apparently I have a potty mouth. It says _crushing my ribs ouch fuck watch that elbow_."

"Oh," Jemma's knees sagged as the shocks of the evening caught up with her, and suddenly Matt was catching her around the waist, drawing her into his lap, strong arms folding around her comfortingly.

"Don't pass out on me now," he murmured against her hair.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, "today's just been a bit much. What with getting sucked into the alien TARDIS and everything."

Matt went very still. "I think you'd better start telling me that long story now."

"Could I please make that phone call first?"

**I haven't watched all of Daredevil yet, so I'm not sure I got Matt's 'voice' down correctly. But I'm sure SHIELD could use a couple of Avocados At Law ;-)**


	139. Boss Lady (Pyro, Iceman & Skye)

**Boss Lady**

_Skye/Iceman/Pyro_

_Hot 'n' Cold Shakes… LOL, I dunno!_

**Theme song:**

**Poison – Flesh and Blood (Sacrifice)**

_So this one happens in the wake of the season finale of AoS. Contains very minor spoilers…_

"So I get that so far I'm the only one on this new team of enhanced people, but who else are you proposing?" Skye asked once she and Coulson were back at the Playground, settled in his office.

"Mike Peterson, once he's recuperated. Lincoln, if he's willing. Any other Inhuman who you and he both vouch for."

Skye smiled at that, nodding slightly. "He knows them much better than I do. And I trust his judgement, but I'll make my own calls."

"I know you will." He slid another dossier across the desk to her, and her eyebrows went up as she saw the TOP SECRET stamps all over it. "The X-Men have their own team – but they're only _semi_-covert. Professor Xavier has apparently been keeping an eye on things here and approached me recently. He has some assets who he thought might suit our team."

"Really?" Skye blinked, flicking the dossier open, scanning the contents quickly.

"These two, specifically. Drake was originally on the core team, but has left due to – well, because of Allerdyce. The two have turned out to be soulmates, and because Allerdyce allied briefly with the Brotherhood of Mutants, the rest of the X-Men have some understandable trust issues."

Skye grimaced. It seemed all too reminiscent of Ward's situation with HYDRA. "But Xavier believes they're trustworthy? That they'll choose the right side?"

"If they're given a right side to choose, yes. Xavier doesn't want them to become isolated, an us-against-them mentality. We know how that turns out."

They were both thinking of Ward, then. Skye nodded. "I'll meet with them. Make my own judgement. But considering those powers, they could be formidable assets. The core of the team, if they're willing." She looked down at the photos in the dossier. Two blue-eyed, handsome blond men, both hard-faced, though. Both gaining their powers young, forced to grow up too soon. Maybe, just maybe, she could give them a place to belong.

"Xavier's arranged a meeting on neutral ground. Since there's two of them, they agreed you could take someone with you. Which will be me."

Skye looked at his missing hand and raised an eyebrow. "Indeed?" was all she said.

"We're not going in looking for a fight. And I'm done letting other people negotiate on my behalf."

Skye winced at that, nodded. "Agreed."

The 'neutral ground' turned out to be an abandoned roadhouse in the middle of Nowhere, Idaho. Phil looked around as Skye parked Lola beside the two black motorcycles already standing on the cracked, weed-sprouting parking lot.

"Salubrious," he murmured dryly.

"But probably sensible, considering the possibilities for collateral damage if they take a dislike to me," Skye replied. "If things go south, Phil…"

He patted her shoulder with his one remaining hand. "I have every confidence that they won't. You relate to people, Skye, and I'm quite sure Xavier wouldn't have sent us anyone with ill intentions. That's not his way."

She sighed, pressed her fingers lightly against his for a moment, and then led the way inside.

They were sitting in a booth by the boarded-up window, two blond heads, one fairer than the other. Two pairs of blue eyes that looked up and tracked curiously over Skye and Phil as they approached.

And then Drake stood up and smiled, and Skye was quite certain she saw him kick Allerdyce under the table. Pyro rolled his eyes slightly and stood up too, showing himself to be slightly the taller of the pair. They were both solidly built under their leather motorcycle jackets, and – well, rather more attractive in person than she'd expected.

It had been so long since Skye had felt physical attraction that she was actually surprised by the visceral punch in the guts she felt. _Stupid, stupid_, she chided herself mentally, _they're soulmated to each other. They couldn't be less interested in you!_

Except Pyro's eyes were tracing over her with definite interest, and though Iceman was more subtle about it Skye was sure he was checking her out too.

"Director Coulson," Drake said politely then, "thank you for coming. I'm Bobby Drake, this is John Allerdyce."

"They know who we are, mate," John nudged him, not very gently. Bobby shoved back with an elbow.

Skye found her lips twitching and fought down a laugh. "I'm Skye, it's nice to meet you both," she held out her hand.

Two pairs of blue eyes widened. John recovered first. "Well, _hell-ooo_ beautiful," he took her hand in his extremely warm one, held onto it. "Did the Prof know about this, I wonder?" he turned his head to look at Bobby, whose mouth had dropped open.

"He does like his little surprises, I'm afraid," Bobby recovered enough to say as Skye gaped at them both.

"_Damn_," Coulson said after a moment, "well that explains why Xavier was so certain you two would be willing to work with us."

Skye blinked, and then realised that of course he'd seen her words, when he helped Jemma treat her after Quinn shot her. John was still holding her hand, both of them staring at her with hungry eyes. "_Well_," was all she could think of to say.

"Director," Bobby looked at Phil, barely able to tear his eyes off Skye long enough to do so, "would you just make the assumption that we're joining your team and we're no threat to you, and leave us alone with our – with _Skye_ for a little while?"

Phil looked at all three of them. At the way John was holding Skye's hand and they were staring at each other, at Bobby edging closer to the two of them as though he was being drawn by an inexorable force.

"Fine," Phil said with a sigh. "But this place is deeply unhygienic so please – keep the clothes on?" He wasn't actually sure any of them heard him as he headed back outside. Oh well. He'd sit in Lola and wait.

Skye stared up at John, who was gently drawing her closer, lifting his free hand to caress her cheek. Warm, _damn_ but his hands were warm. It had to be a side effect of his power. And then cool breath was on her neck, Bobby moving in behind her, his hands sliding gently around her waist, his lips brushing her jawline.

"So glad we found you," Bobby murmured quietly against her ear.

"You'll – you'll stay with me?" Skye didn't think she could bear it if she lost them. Not after everything else she'd lost.

"Always," they answered in unison, moving closer, sandwiching her between two solidly muscled bodies.

"I – I'm supposed to be the leader of this team Coulson wants to build…" her voice came out breathy and light as Bobby's cool mouth trailed down her neck.

"That's okay," John's hand slid into her hair, tilted her head to give Bobby better access. Teeth nipped lightly and Skye couldn't help a moan. "We'll be your enforcers, beautiful. Anyone questioning your orders will get to pick between freezer burn or fire burn, sound good?"

She couldn't resist any more, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck and pull his mouth down to hers. She shivered as Bobby's cool hand slid under her shirt, caressing lightly over her stomach, and a little of her power escaped her control, a tiny tremor rippling through all three of them, entwined as they were.

John groaned into her mouth, and Bobby laughed huskily against her neck. "Think we'd better stop, babe, or your Director is going to get _very_ upset with us when he comes back looking for you."

Skye's eyes were almost rolled back in her head, and she sagged limply in their hold as they both lifted their heads. "I think we're going to need to find a bed sooner rather than later," she mumbled vaguely after a moment.

John smiled down at her. "You make _excellent_ decisions, boss lady."

**Mmmm, lucky Skye. I'd looooove to be giving those two orders.**

**I can just imagine Pyro standing there casually flicking his Zippo and rolling his eyes at some little punk mouthing off to Skye before casually asking "Freezer burn or fire burn, boss lady?"**

**I'm also thinking about a Four Elements fic featuring these three and Lincoln, but I don't really have a plot yet. I do know Deathlok will be rolling his eyes at all of them and just blowing shit up, though.**

**You'll notice I'm no longer putting in a word count. They're all FTWL now ;)**


	140. I Will Follow You (Jemma & Hogun)

**I Will Follow You**

_Jemma/Hogun_

_Grim Biochemist_

**Theme song:**

**U2 – I Will Follow**

**Contains SPOILERS for the AoS season 2 finale, if you didn't see it yet. Another option for what happened to Jemma when the Kree Stone sucked her up…**

Jemma screamed as the black, oily waves surged around her, snatching her off her feet. It washed over her head, dragging her backwards. She kept screaming, although… this seemed really _odd_, because it wasn't black inside the wave, it was light, so bright, all the colours of the rainbow…

"…aaaargh!" she landed with a thud, flat on her face, arms outspread. Like she'd been dropped from a great height, she thought dizzily, and _ouch_, the ground was quite hard, and… grassy? under her groping fingers. Blinking, Jemma raised her head, trying muzzily to focus. Yes. Grass. Under her nose. She lifted her head higher, feeling horribly queasy, but she really did need to try and identify where she was – _oh_. More grass. Grass everywhere. Gently rolling hills, a few trees, a few… sheep? Goats? She blinked harder, trying to bring the small white animals into focus. Shook her head. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her. They seemed to have too many legs.

A low drumming sound behind her made her turn her head, cursing under her breath as vertigo briefly assailed her again. Pushing herself up to hands and knees, Jemma twisted around and squinted.

_Horses_. Those were definitely horses. Half a dozen of them, coming at a gallop, riders on their backs in leather armour…

"Oh my God, I'm having a _Game of Thrones_ hallucination," Jemma mumbled. "Please don't let me be a Stark…" She tried to push herself to her feet, wobbled, overbalanced and sat down hard on her bottom, looking up ruefully as the horses came to a thundering halt just a short distance away.

"_Kash ha m'b'tek_?" one of the riders barked harshly at her, pointing a very sharp-looking spear in her general direction.

"Oh damn," Jemma said. "I don't suppose any of you speak English?" She smiled weakly, holding her hands up to show she was unarmed.

The rider who'd spoken started, looked at another. This one, Jemma thought, was the leader. He sat his horse with a confidence, an authority, that the others didn't quite share. The riders all had an Asiatic look to them, dark hair and eyes, a golden cast to their skin. The leader's hair was long, drawn back in a topknot. He was a handsome man, big and powerful, made even more massive by the bulky dark blue armour he wore. He swung down off his horse and approached her, a huge spiked mace in his hand.

Jemma's eyes widened with fright, and she scrabbled backwards. "Please, don't kill me!" she yelped. "I'm no threat to you!"

Hard dark eyes surveyed her, and then, to her amazement, he cracked a grin. "I don't know about that. I've learned from experience that Midgardian maidens are a lot more dangerous than they look."

"Oh thank God you understand me – wait – you said Midgard – is this not – am I on _Asgard_?" Jemma stared around, astonished.

"No," he slung the mace into a loop on his belt, offered a gloved hand to help her up. "This is Vanaheim. How did you come here, my lady?"

She didn't have much choice but to accept the hand and let him help her up. She felt tiny beside him, her head not even reaching his shoulder. Unsteady on her feet for a moment, he placed his other hand on her shoulder to hold her steady.

One of his men laughed and said something in their language. The response was quick and sharp, and left the other man cringing, before he turned back to her.

"I am Hogun, my lady. I have visited your world before. You spoke of Asgard; you know something of the Realms?"

"I've met Lady Sif," Jemma said rather proudly. "I'm Jemma Simmons. Of SHIELD. And I got here – it's – I don't understand how I got here. I was sucked up by the Kree Monolith."

At the word _Kree_ Hogun's hand twitched back towards his mace again, and his men shifted in their saddles and muttered to each other.

His gloved hand curved under her chin and he lifted her face, stared deep into her eyes. "You're human, though." It wasn't a question.

"Yes?" Jemma said nervously. "Why?"

Hogun sighed, then made a small gesture to his men. They settled, taking their hands off their weapons. "Long ago, the Kree and the Vanir made a bargain. Vanaheim and Midgard are two of the Nine Realms, directly connected to Yggdrasil, the World Tree."

Jemma nodded. She'd read Jane Foster's work, had been fascinated by the way it melded science and myth.

"The Kree homeworld is not. They had experimented on your race, on turning them into weapons…"

"The Inhumans," Jemma said without thinking.

"Indeed." Hogun tilted his head, watching her curiously. "But the Kree decided that they had made a mistake. They made a stone, a portal, between Midgard and Vanaheim, and bargained with the Vanir that should any Inhuman come through, that we would destroy them."

"I'm not Inhuman," Jemma said hastily.

"I know. Part of the reason for the bargain was that the Vanir have an inborn ability to sense Inhumans. That said, I'm not sure why the portal brought you here. It should have had no effect on you."

"I don't know," Jemma said earnestly, looking up at him. "It just, it turned to liquid and kind of sucked me up. Can you send me back?"

"Not the way you came," Hogun shook his head, smiled when he saw her distressed expression. "I did not say not at all, m'lady. I will take you to our Bifrost terminal and call on Heimdall; he can return you via Asgard to your home."

"Oh _thank_ you," Jemma said, hugely relieved. "I need to get back, everyone will be panicking about me. And I don't want anyone else to get caught by the stone, either."

Hogun only inclined his head silently, gestured to his horse. "It is some distance to our village, where we may obtain more comfortable transport for you, m'lady. Will you permit me to carry you upon my horse?"

"I've never ridden a horse," Jemma admitted, eyeing the huge warhorse nervously.

"You will be quite safe, I promise you," his lips twitched as though he might laugh at her, but he didn't, just reached for the horse's reins and swung up into the saddle before leaning down and extending his hand. "Hold up your hands, Lady Jemma."

"Just call me Jemma, please," she said, holding her hands up as she directed, expecting him to take hold of them, but instead he kneed the horse closer, bent down low and wrapped his arm right around her, lifting her easily to sit sideways on the saddle in front of him.

Jemma let out a small shriek of surprise and grabbed at Hogun's forearm to steady herself. He had a metal vambrace on his wrist; one of her hands landed on that, the other on the bare skin just inside his elbow.

Her shriek turned to one of pain at the burning sensation on her palm. Hogun let out a surprised grunt.

"_Ow_, ow, ow, what the _bloody_ hell!" Jemma pulled her hand away, turned it over. Stared in shock at the pattern of dark blue runes appearing on her palm, a match to the deep green ones etching themselves in on Hogun's arm. "What the _hell_ is that?"

"'Tis a soulmark, m'lady," he murmured, staring at her with awe, "as they appear among my people."

"But – I – _oh_," Jemma looked up at him, eyes wide. "I didn't think I had a soulmate. I've always been Blank."

His grim face softened as he looked down at her, and then his arm tightened around her. "This is no time or place to speak of such things, Jemma," his low voice was almost caressing as he spoke her name, and she found herself leaning into him, her head resting against his broad chest as he urged his horse forward.

It was probably twenty minutes or so before they reached the village Hogun had spoken of, and Jemma looked around with interest. She still felt vaguely as though she'd stumbled into an episode of Game of Thrones. Some of the houses were wooden, but the majority were built of solid stone, with slate-tiled roofs. Hogun pulled his horse up in front of the biggest house she saw, slipped down from the saddle and rapped out a few crisp orders to his men even as he lifted Jemma gently down to the ground.

"Is this your house?" Jemma asked hesitantly as the horse was led away and Hogun touched her arm, drawing her towards the door.

"Aye." He saw her slightly nervous look as the door closed behind them. "Have no fear, m'lady. Your honour is safe with me. We are passing through only, to collect my skiff."

"A boat?" Jemma said, puzzled. She hadn't seen a river anywhere near.

A slight smile cracked Hogun's impassive face. "A flying vehicle." He was leading her towards a flight of stairs.

Jemma's eyes darted around, taking everything in. Austere, she thought first, but everything she could see was of the highest quality. A wealthy man among his own people, but one with simple tastes, she suspected. She glanced shyly up at Hogun, caught him looking back at her with an expression of wonder. Tugged lightly on his hand to pull him to a stop.

"M'lady?" he queried.

"_Please_ call me Jemma. Hogun – what happens when you take me to the Bifrost site and I go home? Will I – will I see you again?"

He turned to face her fully, lifted his hands to touch her face. Frowned when he realised he was still wearing his gloves and pulled them off, tucking them into his belt.

He had big hands, coarse and rough-skinned, but he touched her face so gently. Jemma couldn't help but lean into the touch, wanting more of it.

"Among the Vanir," Hogun said quietly, "finding one's soulmate is a momentous thing. If one soulmate must make a journey, the other would follow them to the ends of the world, and beyond. You must return to your home, and so I follow you."

"Oh," Jemma's mouth opened. "But – what about your people, your life here…"

"I told my friends; they will spread word and everyone will understand."

"But…" Jemma's mind raced. How was she going to explain _this_ to Coulson? But then they'd almost certainly by now missed her, traced her movements, found footage of the Monolith sucking her up. They'd be so relieved to see her safe that they'd probably forgive anything, even turning up with an alien warrior as escort.

"There is nothing in the Nine Realms more important to me than you, Jemma," Hogun said quietly, and she stared up at him wide-eyed. He drew in a soft hiss of breath, bent his head, and she realised he intended to kiss her. He was moving slowly though, clearly giving her time to pull back if she wanted, his hands on her face only holding lightly.

She didn't want to pull back. Not really. She knew little to nothing about him, but he _was_ her soulmate, and definitely one of the most attractive men she'd ever seen. Jemma let her eyelids drift to half-mast and parted her lips slightly as Hogun's mouth came down on hers.

The kiss started off gentle, but quickly turned explosive as Jemma leaned into Hogun, putting her arms around him. His hands slipped into her hair, massaging at her scalp, and she let out a tiny moan into his mouth as his tongue flicked hotly over hers.

Hogun was breathing rapidly when he lifted his head, looked down at Jemma leaning against him, her eyes closed, her lips parted and wet.

"I am more than glad to follow you to Midgard," Hogun said quietly. "I will stand between you and any who seek to harm you; I will be your champion and defender unto my last breath, my Lady Jemma."

_Well_, Jemma couldn't help but think, _I'm sure his ability to sense Inhumans will come in handy, at any rate. As long as I can talk him out of killing the ones that are on our side._ She reached up, took his hand as he lowered it from her face. Smiled up at him.

"Before we go, there's something I probably ought to tell you."

**My headcanon is that Hogun joins the team as all-around badass/rogue Inhuman detector. Which would be very handy considering the fish oil problem!**

**Hope you enjoyed! I've been struggling for a premise for these two for a while, and it finally came together after the finale… I'm still in denial about what happened to Jemma, but there are so many lovely options if you consider that the Monolith was a TARDIS of some sort, and we know Elizabeth Henstridge (the actress who plays Jemma) is signed on for Season 3, so she WILL be back. Who knows, maybe she'll be the one who gets the Inhuman-sensing abilities?**


	141. Big Mistake (Darcy & Ward)

**Big Mistake**

_Darcy Lewis/Grant Ward_

_ShockedSpecialist_

**Theme song:**

**LeAnn Rimes – The Right Kind Of Wrong (Coyote Ugly Soundtrack)**

"Stupid," Ward peered through his binoculars, shook his head. "Stupid and reckless."

"What's your plan, sir? And – forgive me for asking, but why exactly would we want to piss off _Thor_?"

Grant Ward sighed and looked across at his henchman. "We don't want to piss off Thor. I just want to get his attention."

"Oh, I think kidnapping his girlfriend will do that, sir," came the slightly sarcastic response.

Ward's eyes narrowed, and he considered whether the other man needed another lesson in respect. The cringe his slight change of expression caused made him conclude that it wasn't. Yet. "All I want is to give the Avengers a piece of information. Thor is the most accessible. Romanoff and Barton would kill me on sight, Banner and Stark hardly ever come out of their Tower, and Rogers, while he doesn't know me, is sharp enough to ask why I'd want him to have the information. Thor won't be."

He smiled darkly as he looked back through the binoculars. "No, Thor will be so glad to get his precious Dr Foster back safely, he won't care where the message comes from. But it should pique his curiosity, enough to pass it on to the others. And then – well _then_ we'll find out just _why_ Coulson doesn't want them to know."

The two men with him exchanged glances, shrugged. "What's the plan then, sir?" one of them asked deferentially.

Darcy smiled at Jane as the other woman finally escaped the little knot of rapturous scientists. "Ready for dinner?"

"Am I ever," Jane admitted. "Who knew talking about science could be so much more exhausting than actually doing it?" She linked her arm with Darcy's companiably. "Is there a car here to take us to the hotel?"

"Right there," Darcy pointed to a black limo parked at the curb. "Driver just introduced himself."

The guy was short and stocky, a cap over his bald head. He held the door as the two women slipped into the back of the car.

"Thank you," Darcy said with a smile, and he nodded back to her.

The car was soon moving through the busy streets of – what city was it this week? – Darcy had forgotten for a moment – oh yes, Budapest, and she _still_ hadn't gotten that story out of Clint. She settled back into her seat, half-listening to Jane's excited chatter about a new idea she'd gotten from one of the brains trust she'd been chatting with, and admiring the lovely scenery of the ancient city as they passed.

About fifteen minutes later, Darcy's hindbrain registered something not quite right. Had it taken them that long this morning to get from the hotel to the university? And the district they were passing through looked distinctly shady, very unlike the area she remembered around their five-star hotel. She looked at the driver, leaned forward to knock on the clear security screen separating the front and rear sections of the car.

"Excuse me, but are you sure this is the right way?"

He turned his head at her knock. Grinned. And pressed a switch on the dash.

Darcy's eyes widened. "Oh shit!" It wasn't because of the switch. It was the octopus tattoo she'd just spotted peeking above the collar of his shirt. Knowing it was almost certainly futile as white mist suddenly billowed around her, she still lunged for the door handle.

She never reached it.

"Wake up, Doctor Foster," an exasperated male voice was saying as Darcy came around. She lay very still, keeping her eyes closed, careful to breathe shallowly as she minutely flexed her fingers and toes. She wasn't restrained. And she was lying on a hard lump that she was pretty sure was her Stark-souped-up taser, still in its concealed holster at the small of her back.

_What a bunch of amateurs, they didn't even search me_, Darcy thought, her eyes still closed. As usual they'd underestimated her, assumed she was just Jane's assistant, there to carry around papers and manage the feed and watering of the absent-minded genius.

Well, she _was_ there for those things. But she'd _also_ spent a very intensive six months in Avengers Tower being trained by the Black Widow before Jane was let loose on the world, and she made a pretty damn badass bodyguard if she did say so herself.

Darcy opened one eye the merest slit. _Hotel room, looks like_, she assessed quickly. _A seedy one_. Jane was lying beside her on a double bed. A man was bending over Jane, shaking Jane's shoulder firmly.

"Wake up, Doctor Foster!" he said sharply again.

Darcy took about half a second to appreciate the aesthetics. _If more villains looked like that, I might even be tempted to join the Dark Side_, she thought whimsically.

Villain of the Day was the archetypal tall, dark and handsome. Dark eyes, patrician nose, razor cheekbones. Early thirties, Darcy guessed.

"Dammit," Handsome Villain muttered, stepping back from Jane, turning to pace across the room to the door. When he turned back again, Darcy was sitting up, her Taser pointed at him.

"Could have told you I'd wake up first. Body weight negligible, and she doesn't even drink," Darcy said coolly.

He had very dark eyes, which went very wide now. His hand had swooped for the gun at his hip, but he moved it away slowly. He was opening his mouth, almost certainly to tell her his Evil Plan – _why_ did villains always feel the need to do that? Seriously, _dull_, and Darcy had no doubt heard it all before. She really couldn't be bothered to hear him out.

So she Tasered him in the nuts.

Grant Ward had never known such pain. And he'd been shot, stabbed and tortured in the past. Absolutely nothing compared to the agony that sent him to the floor, curled in a foetal position, choking on air as his whole body spasmed.

A light hand plucked at his hip, taking his gun. Swept expertly over him, finding his backup piece at his ankle, three knives, even the strip of razor blade in his belt buckle. Slipped his phone and wallet from his inside jacket pocket.

Utterly powerless to resist, every muscle in his body still twitching frantically, Ward looked up at the brunette through teary eyes. She stepped back and started tinkering with his phone, barely looking at him, though she still held his gun in one hand, pointed at him steadily.

"P-p-please," he managed to choke out. "B-big – m-m-m-mistake."

"You sure did make a big mistake, sugar." Darcy tapped on the phone, held it to her ear. "Hey, FRIDAY," she said cheerfully. "We've got a slight problem. Can you locate me from this call? Yes, I can keep the line open." She waited a minute, keeping the gun held on Ward as his twitching slowly began to subside. _Tough guy_, she thought. The last guy she'd used her Stark-taser on had pissed himself and not stopped shaking for an hour. Dick Dastardly here was already starting to regain control over his body.

"Just don't fucking try anything because I'm quite happy to blow your head off," she told him casually. "Oh, hey Clint! Yes, Jane and I have been kidnapped again. Tell Thor to get hold of Heimdall and zap up and down to collect us, yeah? Yes, we're quite safe. I've got our Villain of the Week subdued. Name?" she glanced down at the wallet in her hand. "Well, I don't know if it's his real name or not. He can't talk right now. Wallet says Grant Ward, though."

She had to hold the phone away from her ear at Clint's sudden squawk. Listened for a moment, her expression growing grim. "Okay. Yes, I won't underestimate him." She backed towards the bed, sat on it, keeping herself between Ward and Jane and the gun firmly trained on him. "I'm gonna put the phone down so I can concentrate on him, then. I'll leave the line open."

It was only a few minutes before lightning cracked in the clear sky outside, and Darcy glanced out and grinned. "Thor's gonna be so pissed," she said conversationally to Ward. "You're lucky you didn't have time to upset Jane."

"I only wanted to pass on a message," he managed to croak out.

"What, you couldn't have written a goddamn letter?" Darcy said sarcastically. Her curiosity got the better of her, though. "What message?"

Ward smiled, slowly beginning to regain control over his limbs, his brain beginning to work again. "I'll tell Thor when he gets here. I'm so happy to meet you."

"What?" Darcy stared at him in surprise.

He blinked. "You're my soulmate. Aren't you?"

"Oh _shit_," she said, suddenly realising that he had indeed said the three words that had been stamped on her ass since birth. She'd always thought that _please big mistake_ sounded as though it was broken English, thought her soulmate might be a foreign native.

At that precise moment, Thor came crashing in through the window, swinging Mjolnir. "WHO HATH DARED TO HARM THE LADIES UNDER THE PROTECTION OF THOR?" he boomed, so loudly that Darcy covered her ears.

"Ouch, Thor, inside voice, please!" She gestured at Ward, still on the floor. "That's the mutt. Um – don't kill him just yet? He's my soulmate."

Thor looked at her. At Jane, unconscious still on the bed. At Ward. And then his lips thinned and he strode forward, cloak flaring, and swung an armoured boot at Ward's head.

The lights went out.

Grant woke in a cell, his head throbbing with agony. He was wearing a set of grey scrubs and lying on an air mattress, a thin blanket over him. There was nothing else in the cell but a prison toilet and sink. It was clean enough; three white walls, white floor and ceiling, the fourth wall a blue shimmer of energy. There was no-one on the other side, but that would surely change. He lay still, waiting for the pain in his head to subside, cataloguing his other hurts. His groin was still sore, but it wouldn't prevent him from running or fighting if need be. He smiled at the thought of the woman who'd inflicted the wound, she of the dark hair and depthless blue eyes.

His soulmate. He sighed and put his hands behind his head, smiling to himself. She'd be even more loyal to him than Kara, that poor broken creature. She'd never turn against him. Never hand him over to his enemies. They'd probably send Romanoff in to interrogate him and he knew exactly how to manipulate her; she and Coulson had been close…

His reverie was interrupted by a dry voice remarking "Well well, Grant Ward. What a pleasant surprise."

He knew that voice, and it wasn't one he'd expected to hear. He jerked upright, wincing only slightly at the pain in his head, stared out through the blue shimmer at Maria Hill.

_Fuck_. He'd forgotten about her. She already knew about Coulson. There was no leverage here, he needed to speak to one of the Avengers, or to his soulmate again…

Ward smiled tightly. "Hello, Maria."

She smiled back, and it was cold as ice. "Foolish, foolish move, Ward. Just walking into the lion's den like that."

"I underestimated Dr Foster's assistant," he nodded. "But then, she _is_ my soulmate. Naturally she's as dangerous as she is beautiful."

"Naturally," Maria's smile grew just a little sharper. "I told her all about you. About how you shot your last girlfriend twice in the stomach."

He shot to his feet, teeth bared, in an instant. "It was an accident! I thought she was…"

"Your previous bed partner? Yes, I told her that, too. You killed your girlfriend, thinking she was your ex."

"That's…" _exactly what happened_. "Look, just let me see her. I can explain."

"Explain how you convinced Kara, who'd already been brainwashed, to imprint on you? How you took her on a killing spree to find 'closure'? How you tortured an agent who'd only been doing her job, lured others into a lethal trap? I already told her all of it, Ward. Indeed, she's already had a very enlightening conversation with Agent Skye."

He stilled at that. "No."

"Oh yes. Skye told her all about your betrayal of your team, about the agents you murdered, about your actions in forcing her off the Bus by threatening her friends and taking her to a HYDRA stronghold."

"You're missing out half the story!" Ward snarled in rage.

Maria's smile grew more genuine. "Doesn't feel so good when other people do it to you, does it, Ward? Because that's your specialty, twisting every story to paint yourself the victim. Laying the blame everywhere but on your own shoulders."

"My family…"

"Oh spare me. You've had your chance, Ward; you had the opportunity to turn yourself around and do the right thing."

He shook his head. "No one ever gave me a chance."

"Of course they did," she looked at him almost pityingly. "When Coulson had you in Vault D, Ward. Did you co-operate? Did you volunteer all the information you knew about HYDRA?"

He was silent.

"Well let me refresh your memory. I've seen the tapes, you see." She stepped forward, close to the screen, her eyes snapping with rage. "The _hell_ you did. You used the opportunity to manipulate Agent Skye, to try and turn the situation to your advantage by working on her desire to know about her family."

"I told them about Donnie Gill!"

"Only when you found out she was in danger from him!" Maria shook her head. "You can't be trusted to serve anyone's ends but your own, Ward. Your soulmate understands that, now. She's a good person and she wants nothing to do with you."

"What? No!" His fists clenched. "Let me see her!"

"That's not your choice. It's hers. And she's made it very clear that she never wants to lay eyes on you again."

Ward snarled. "You won't be able to keep me locked up forever. I'll escape. I'll kill every one of you until I find her, until I get what's mine…" His voice was low, calm. Controlled.

"Told you," a voice said, and Ward's eyes widened as Phil Coulson strolled into view. "Probably the worst case of obsessive personality disorder ever seen."

"A tragic waste, really," Maria said, shaking her head. "So much potential."

"Which is why I think it's only fair that we undo what's been done to him. What his family and Garrett made him into."

"No," Ward suddenly realised what they meant to do. "No! I _like_ who I am!"

"Most sociopaths and serial killers do, I believe," Coulson gave him a wry look. "I made you a bargain, Ward. I'm here to hold up my end of it."

"No! Not TAHITI! No!" he was still screaming furious denials when the invisible gas which had been venting silently into the cell knocked him unconscious.

"So what's he doing now?" Darcy asked when Maria told her the problem had been dealt with.

"He's a firefighter, in Chicago. He's very good at it. As good at saving lives as he once was at taking them."

"Wiping out the red in his ledger?"

"Something like that, though of course he's not aware of it. He's got a good, fulfilling life, Darcy."

She nodded. The words had faded from her skin within two days of Ward undergoing the TAHITI procedure. She was Blank, now. No soulmate to look forward to. Squaring her shoulders, Darcy forced a smile. "Well. On with the rest of my life, I guess."

"It can be a good life even without a soulmate, Darcy," Maria said softly. "Plenty of people never get marks. Or lose their soulmates, one way or another."

Darcy nodded, choked up on tears for dreams of might-have-been, and fled.

It was Steve Rogers who found her, sitting in the woods surrounding the new Avengers Training Facility, her back to a tree. She was all cried out by then, pretty much, and just looked up at him from swollen, red eyes as he lowered himself to sit on the ground close by. He didn't say anything for several long minutes, for which Darcy was grateful. When he finally did speak, he didn't say anything she'd expected.

"Peggy Carter's my soulmate, you know," he said, in a conversational tone.

Darcy blinked. She _hadn't_ known that. Certainly it wasn't public knowledge. She shook her head, finally.

"She's 97. Went on, after I disappeared, lived a full life without me, even though her soulmark didn't fade. Had a husband, kids, grandkids. Her youngest granddaughter's one of our new recruits." Steve wasn't looking at her, was fiddling with some blades of grass, braiding them into a thin strand. "I look at Maggie and think, that should have been _my_ granddaughter." There was no bitterness in his voice, though.

Darcy sighed, drew up her knees and rested her chin on them. "I'm not crying for Ward. I never even knew him and from all accounts he was an absolute psychopath. It's more for the loss of all those dreams, you know? Everyone who's Marked grows up hoping for the happily-ever-after."

"I think _everyone_ does, Marked or Blank," Steve disagreed quietly. "It's just that those of us lucky enough to have been Marked have a higher probability of it. There's still no guarantees." He discarded the braided strand of grass, looked straight at Darcy. "I dreamed of going home after the war, settling down with Peggy, having kids, the white picket fence, all of it." He smiled reminiscently. "I told her about it. She very astringently told me that she'd have absolutely hated that."

Darcy was surprised into laughter. "I would too," she admitted.

"It's not what I want any more. Not to say that kids might not be nice, one day, but…" he shrugged huge shoulders.

"But what?" Darcy was curious enough to ask.

"I'd have to find a girl who understood me. _Steve_, not just the shield. Someone who could accept and live with the dangers of bein' with Captain America, probably someone already on the inside on our world, who already knows our secrets." His blue eyes held hers unwaveringly, though there was a blush rising on his cheeks, and Darcy suddenly realised that Steve Rogers was hitting her over the head with a clue stick.

Looking back, it wasn't as though there hadn't been signs. He always responded to her teasingly flirty remarks with a blush and a smile. He sought out her company when she was around. But Darcy, lost in nebulous dreams of her future soulmate – _and seriously, Captain America, interested in _her_? Not a chance_ – had never really paid attention.

Except that he was still looking at her from those amazing blue eyes.

Darcy smiled a little shakily. "Can't imagine where you could find that paragon of perfection," she said.

"I can." He put his hand down on the ground next to hers. "There's this girl, you see. I've liked her for a while, but she always knew she had a soulmate somewhere. Never looked at me. Only, things didn't quite work out for her with her soulmate, and I'm wonderin' if it's too soon to ask her out for coffee."

A little hesitantly, Darcy reached out, put her fingers over his large, strong ones. "Coffee sounds good."

Steve turned his fingers up, laced them gently with hers, and smiled.

**I couldn't decide if this should be a HEA for Ward and Darcy or not. I put it to a vote on Tumblr and the vote was OVERWHELMINGLY for Darcy to kick his overly pretty ass to the kerb and move on with her head held high.**

**Never let it be said that I don't listen to my fans…**


	142. Another Path (Bucky & Pietro)

**Another Path**

_Bucky/Pietro_

_QuickWinter, QuickSoldier, WinterSilver, SilverSoldier… or most amusingly, Picky! I think I like QuickWinter best – what do you guys think?_

**Theme song:**

**Nickelback – How You Remind Me**

**This is AU for Age of Ultron. **

**(Let's face it, almost everything I write is going to be AU for Age of Ultron. It was a good movie – but a bad **_**story**_**, IMHO).**

"The Asset has been located, sir!" one of his lackeys came dashing up to von Strucker as he stood talking with Pietro and Wanda. "But, um, there's a problem…"

Von Strucker sighed, led the other man further away. Wanda tilted her head curiously.

"Such fear," she murmured to Pietro in Sokovian. "Even when they speak of the Avengers, they do not feel such fear as this. What is this Asset, of which they speak? I see only a man, in his mind…"

Von Strucker was looking more angered by the moment. Eventually he shook his head, gestured the soldier away, and came striding back towards the twins. "We will have need of you," he said crisply. "We have an asset – a weapon to use against the Avengers, but he has gone rogue. He must be recaptured."

"He is enhanced?" Pietro asked. It was a foolish question, perhaps. HYDRA would not unleash the twins against an ordinary threat. Von Strucker only nodded shortly and gestured them towards the soldier, who waited near the door, still shaking in his boots.

"Subdue him, and return him to us. We'll need to wipe him again," he muttered almost to himself, turning away and going to tinker with one of his pieces of alien machinery. "Perhaps the sceptre will prove effective…"

Wanda's hand tightened on Pietro's, and when he glanced at her, he saw that she had turned very pale. She swallowed convulsively, but motioned to him with her eyes that they should go.

Sitting in the back of the cloaked quinjet, surrounded by soldiers, she leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear, using Romani, the language of their childhood, which neither of them spoke often any more.

"This is _wrong_."

Pietro stilled his habitual fidgeting – he found it difficult to be truly still for long – and glanced sideways at her. Her dark eyes met his, troubled but determined.

"Then we shall find another way," he answered softly, also in Romani, his fingers tightening on hers.

They had always known that at some point their path must divert from HYDRA. Once they had understood Von Strucker's true goals – once Wanda had looked inside his mind and seen HYDRA's plan for humanity – they had accepted that, had planned for it. But first, they would use HYDRA to strike against Stark. To get their revenge.

It seemed that was not to be. Pietro pressed his hand to his chest, where in a pocket over his heart an old photograph, tattered and torn, rested. He took a deep breath.

"Another path will present itself," Wanda said quietly.

"Yes. It will."

They landed on the outskirts of a small town somewhere in America. Pietro had seen a hundred like it on TV screens, but still could not help but stare. The houses were so well kept! So spacious! And only one family would live in each – a family that had a choice of where they could shop, would never have to queue for hours in hopes of buying a single loaf of bread. He could not keep the snarl of rage from his face. _Capitalist dogs_.

It was late night, or early morning, and the streets were quiet.

"The Asset is here?" Wanda asked one of their escort. He nodded, finger tight on the trigger of his gun.

"We have men watching him. He took over an abandoned farmhouse close by. He's an expert sniper, took down several of our men." The soldier scowled. "I wanted to use the jet and just firebomb him straight back to hell, but we have our orders. He's to be taken alive."

"I see," Wanda nodded, her eyes slid across to Pietro, and he moved.

Five seconds later they stood alone in a circle of dead soldiers. Pietro had the gun the soldier they'd been talking to had held.

"Are you going to fill me in now on why exactly we are throwing all of our plans into the furnace?" he asked sarcastically as they resumed walking. "For a man we haven't even met yet?"

Wanda gave him a secretive little smile. "He's important."

"Oh spare me the spooky voodoo shit. I'm still your older brother." He pinched her, faster than she could see.

"By twelve minutes!" she snapped at him.

"Twelve very important minutes." He pinched her again. She waited for him to slow down and punched his shoulder. He laughed and whizzed around to her other side – as a bullet passed through the spot where his head had just been.

"Shit!" Snatching Wanda up, he sped behind a tree with her. Peered quickly at the distant farmhouse. "Damn, he really is a good sniper. That must be over a mile!"

"I saw in Von Strucker's mind what they did to him," Wanda said quietly. "He was a sniper once for the Americans. In WWII."

"_What_?" Pietro's head snapped around to look at her.

"They took him and they broke and remade him, into their weapon. The only thing they left him was that ability to kill."

"And now he has turned on them," Pietro murmured thoughtfully, peering back at the farmhouse again. A distant flash alerted him and he dragged Wanda to the ground moments before a large chunk of the tree trunk exploded, sending splinters flying everywhere. "Time to move. Before he kills us too."

Carrying Wanda, he sprinted for the house at his top speed, in a zigzag pattern to ensure that the sniper wouldn't get in a lucky shot. She flung bolts of scarlet energy, shattering every window. Pietro chose one at random and leapt in.

They could hear surprised cursing in Russian from one of the other rooms.

"I thought you said he was American?" Pietro muttered to Wanda as he set her on her feet.

"I also said they remade him," she whispered back. "I need to get close. His mind has been broken so many times – if I can get close enough to touch, I might be able to bring him back to himself."

Pietro nodded. "Wait here, then." He wasn't surprised to hear her footsteps as soon as he started to move – Wanda never listened to him – but there was no way she would even get to the door before he'd found the Asset, whoever and whatever he was.

Bucky barely saw the blur of movement in the door, but he reacted instinctively, dropping the unwieldy sniper rifle and flinging his metal arm out in a massive punch.

If it had connected, it might have taken Pietro's head off, but the speedster saw the movement as though in slow motion, ducked under it and connected to the handsome brunette's stubbled jaw in an uppercut with so much momentum behind it, Bucky was flung off his feet and back against the wall, his head hitting hard before he slumped to the floor.

Dazed, he blinked up at the blond man stooping over him. "Where the _hell_ did you come from?" he slurred out.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Pietro replied, occupied with searching him for weapons, his hands moving faster than Bucky could see. "Holy shit, you're a walking armoury!" Guns, knives, razor blades, a garrotte…

"_What_ did you say?" Bucky gasped. He'd been wandering for weeks, dazed and bemused, just another homeless hobo, but slowly his mind had begun to repair itself. He wasn't ready to remember the man on the bridge yet – his mind shied away from the name Steve – but he'd caught sight of himself in a reflective shop window one day and his once-fastidious soul had revolted at the filthy, bearded mess looking back at him.

A couple of dead drug dealers later and he had a fistful of cash; a visit to a Goodwill procured some slightly better clothes, enough for him to not be turned away from a cheap motel when he paid cash up front, and he was able to clean up properly. He didn't trust anyone close enough to get his hair cut, but he'd at least been able to wash and shave. And there, standing under the first hot shower he'd had in God only knew how many years, he'd found words written on his left inner thigh. How long they'd been there, he had no way of knowing.

"Said you're a walking armoury," Pietro mumbled, still focussed on finding all the weapons.

"Before that."

Blue eyes met blue, and Pietro blinked first. "I said, _wouldn't you like to know_," he said slowly. Wondering suddenly just what the hell was keeping Wanda.

"Don't s'pose you've got _where the hell did you come from_ written on you somewhere?" Bucky asked hopefully. Because _hot damn_, the kid was _gorgeous_. Early twenties at most, he guessed, crystal blue eyes and curly, unruly platinum blond hair, beautiful cheekbones and a voice that could turn Bucky's legs to jelly.

Pietro looked over his shoulder. Saw Wanda standing in the doorway grinning at him. "You _knew_," he accused. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought about it. But then you said _spare me the spooky voodoo shit_ and I decided you could find out on your own," she came forward, moving slowly so as not to spook Bucky. "Hello, James Buchanan Barnes. I'm Wanda, your soulmate's twin sister."

"Call me Bucky. He didn't even tell me his name yet," Bucky pushed himself to sit up.

"Oh – Pietro! Pietro Maximoff."

"Nice." Bucky's eyes roamed over his face. "I'd kiss you but I'm thinkin' your sister prob'ly don't want to watch."

Wanda chuckled softly. "I see you don't truly need my help, Bucky. Or – perhaps you do." She cocked her head slightly. "Kiss him, Pietro. It will go easier if you distract him."

"Wh…" was all Bucky managed to get out before his soulmate's warm lips pressed against his own and he was indeed most thoroughly distracted.

There was a flash of red light in his mind and he _remembered_. He remembered _all of it_. He wanted to scream, his body tensing, but there was a second flash and suddenly it was as though he was looking at the memories through a pane of thick glass. They were all there, but they couldn't touch him, couldn't hurt him. And he was suddenly aware of a hot tongue teasing his lips apart, playing with his own, stubble scratching lightly on his skin.

Bucky moaned into Pietro's mouth, lifted his arms – one of them whirring and clicking in a most peculiar way – and slipped them around the blond's neck, kissing him back thoroughly.

Wanda let out a weary sigh and sat back, a small smile creeping over her face. After a moment she wrinkled her nose and looked away.

"Ugh. You were right. I really don't want to watch."

**There will be a Part 2 to this one in a few days, when Wanda finds HER soulmate ;)**


	143. Show Me The Way (Tony & Wanda)

**Show Me The Way**

_Tony/Wanda_

_IronWitch_

**Theme song: **

**The Script – Man On A Wire**

**This is the follow-up to the previous Short, Pietro/Bucky. I'm sorry to those of you who wanted to see Steve/Wanda, but I did already write that, and I don't generally repeat pairings in Shorts unless they're background.**

**One thing (among MANY) that bothered me about AoU is that Wanda could see into minds as well as 'mental manipulation'. She triggered some pretty badass PTSD episodes among the Avengers – but why didn't she look into Tony's mind? But then I daresay if she had, something like the following might have happened, and it wouldn't have been nearly as interesting a story…**

It was an odd little group they made, travelling around the United States, leaving a trail of wrecked safehouses and bloodied bodies behind. Or it might have been considered odd if anyone looked at them twice, but due to Wanda's abilities, most people forgot them before they were even out of sight.

Bucky's memories held a positive treasure-trove of details about HYDRA bases, safe houses, sleeper agents and allies. And after he'd told Pietro and Wanda what had been done to him at the hands of those agents and allies, they were more than happy to help him clean up the scum left behind after SHIELD had been destroyed.

They stayed off the Avengers' radar. Bucky wasn't yet ready to deal with Steve; even with the shield Wanda had emplaced in his mind to protect him from the worst ravages of his memories, it was still too painful for him to even think about that yet. He was healing, slowly, with Pietro's unconditional love and a little quiet tampering from Wanda from time to time.

Wanda and Pietro were in no particular hurry to meet the Avengers, either. Pietro was prepared to give up his vendetta against Stark for Bucky's sake, but Wanda made no such promises. She did not speak of it. Allowed Pietro to think as he wished.

And then, one day, they were sitting in a motel room together – well, Wanda was sitting, Pietro and Bucky were curled together on a bed, snuggling gently – and a face they all knew appeared on the TV screen.

"That's von Strucker," Wanda straightened up, reached for the remote. They watched the news story in silence. The Avengers again, targeting and destroying what appeared to be HYDRA's last major outpost in Europe.

"They will have the sceptre," Pietro said quietly. "We need to warn them."

Wanda said nothing. _This is my chance_, she exulted silently. _My chance to get close to Tony Stark. To finally avenge my parents_…

They called ahead. Arranged a meeting with Captain America and the Black Widow; meekly answered every question put to them. Honestly in Pietro and Bucky's case, and Wanda manipulated Romanoff just enough that the woman didn't spot her lies. And then they were escorted to Avengers Tower, taken to meet the rest of the team. Taken to Stark, busy playing in his labs, investigating the new treasure he'd stolen from von Strucker, even as Thor cautioned him not to tamper with things beyond his understanding.

Wanda waited for her moment. Waited until the others were busy exclaiming over Bucky and Pietro before drifting close to Stark, who was fascinated by the code he'd found buried within the sceptre. She lifted her hand, red glow forming around her fingers, reached into his mind to find his fears, preparing to heighten them to crippling terrors, to break his mind upon her will…

"Oh," she whispered, utterly shocked. "Oh – you're so _broken_."

There was nothing she could do to him that he had not already done to himself. She saw it all, his guilt, his pain, his fear of losing the friends he loved better than family. The horrors he still faced in his dreams, of what he'd seen beyond the portal that had opened up in the sky over New York and rained terror and death down on the city he loved.

And beyond that, she felt the _vastness_ of his mind, more complex, more brilliant than any she had ever touched, still shining like a star despite the grim darkness that he couldn't shake off.

Tony felt her touch upon his mind even as she whispered the words he'd carried on his skin for over twenty years. Turned to face her, his dark eyes widening as he looked down at her, saw the red glow shining around her fingertips. She'd called the worst of his nightmares up to the forefront of his mind, forced him to think on them without realising, and he shook his head slowly.

"I don't want to fight any more," he said softly, his ultimate truth spilling from his lips.

He'd spoken her soulwords. Still lost in the vastness of his mind, Wanda stared up at him through glazed eyes, understanding now that she had to help him. That she was _born_ to help him. Gently, she brought her fingers to his temple, letting the red glow slip into him, giving him the same kind of shield that she'd built for Bucky, one that would allow him to examine the events more dispassionately, not allow the pain he felt to cloud his thinking and influence his decisions. He would wake no more in the middle of the night screaming.

"What did you _do_?" Tony asked.

A tear slipped from Wanda's eye, ran slowly down her cheek. "I have hated you since I was a child," she told him, "but I was wrong. I let it consume me, eat me up inside, but what happened to us was never your fault."

Tony shook his head, not understanding.

"God would not have given me a soulmate who so opposed everything I believe in, I see that now," another tear slipped down her cheek, and he reached up to wipe it away with a callused thumb. "You desire peace even more than I do. But this," she waved her hand at the sceptre, at the projection beyond it, "this is not the way. Humanity is too complicated, our motives too strange, for any one entity to safeguard. This way lies only death and destruction."

Tony hesitated, because he believed her; her words carried the ring of truth, but he desperately wanted her to be wrong. "The Ultron program…"

"I understand why you wish it. But it will never be what you want it to be." Her hand caressed his cheek gently. "We who believe in peace, we must fight on a while yet."

He closed his eyes, turned his face more fully into her touch. "Stay with me." It was a low-voiced plea, quite unlike the arrogant, difficult man she knew he could be. "Show me the way."

"Always," Wanda promised tenderly as his arm slipped around her waist.

**Tony and his spectacular PTSD was one of the few things I felt Whedon DID get pretty much right in AoU. But then Tony's PTSD is basically his entire motive and backstory, it's kinda hard to miss. Such a shame Wanda didn't take a look inside his mind before she decided to fuck it up some more!**

**Now there's a new extension up, zathara has started posting **_**In Extremis Veritas**_**, which is the extension and adaptation of the Bucky/Pepper Crackship Short. Get on over there and check it out!**


	144. Our Own Little Family(Skye&Jack Rollins)

**Our Own Little Family**

_Skye/Jack Rollins_

_Skylins?_

**Theme song:**

**The Police – Every Breath You Take**

**Did you know that Callan Mulvey (the Aussie actor who plays Jack Rollins) actually has a glass eye? He lost his eye (and got that sexy scar on his chin) in a car accident just after filming **_**Thunderstruck**_**. Which, incidentally, is one of the best Australian films ever made and a hilarious must-watch if you like AC/DC even a little bit. **

**So anyway, I was thinking about something completely different and the idea popped into my head. **

**What if Rollins lost his eye on a STRIKE mission and was one of the first people to get the cyber-eye implant like Deathlok's? And for quite some time, he had NO IDEA that anyone was watching or that it could be used to transmit messages to him.**

**Until, one day when he was preparing for a mission, a line of text suddenly appeared.**

**WE HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER.**

**Background here is that Rollins had a daughter with a former girlfriend, who got mixed up with a bad crowd and OD'd on drugs, leaving him sole guardian for his baby girl. She stays with a trusted neighbour while he's away on missions but he's absolutely devoted to her. Like Mike Peterson, he was forced to co-operate with HYDRA to keep his child safe.**

The tall man stood in the cramped isolation cell and looked at the wall.

"He's doing it again," one of the guards in the monitoring room observed. One of the others glanced over at the monitor.

"He does it all the time. Nutbag." And with an eyeroll, the subject was dropped.

Jack Rollins stood still and stared hard at the piece of paper at his eye level. The guards wouldn't give him much, but occasionally he'd get a fresh bit of paper and a crayon. A tiny scrap of tape to tack the paper up to the wall. His cell was papered with messages.

WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?

IS ANYBODY THERE?

WHY DON'T YOU ANSWER?

IS ANYONE WATCHING?

I WANT MY DAUGHTER.

GET ME OUT OF HERE.

He knew what the guards thought. What everyone thought. He didn't mind letting them think it. His eye implant was so sophisticated it defied detection by any of the machines the prison used, and if he told them about it, undoubtedly it would be removed, probably painfully. And he would lose his last link to those bastards who had his daughter. If Casey was even still alive. It had been over a year now since the last message had scrolled through his eye.

WE'LL HAVE YOU OUT OF THERE SOON.

He'd waited patiently. Passed up several chances of escape, in those early days. Hadn't attempted to defend himself at the military tribunal which found him guilty of treason and sentenced him to death. If he'd opened his mouth Casey would have been killed instantly, of that he was very sure.

Instead, he sat on death row at Leavenworth, with no way of knowing if his baby girl was dead or alive. No way to know if HYDRA thought he was useful enough to carry through on that promise to get him out, or if they'd just written him off as soon as he was captured. He wasn't exactly a loyalist, after all. _Incentivised assets_, they called people like him.

Rollins stared at the message he'd picked for today. He'd look at it as long as the guards let him have light.

IS ANYBODY THERE?

"Fuck," Phil breathed as he scanned through the latest data Skye's team of computer wizards had come up with. "Ward's rebuilding HYDRA."

"Sure looks like it," May agreed, her voice dust-dry. "Look at this." She tapped a highlighted name in the middle of the list."

"Rumlow," Phil said in doom-laden tones. "I thought he was dead."

"So did we all. Wishful thinking, apparently."

Phil slid his finger down the screen. "I don't see Rollins' name here, though – that's some small mercy…"

"Phil, Rollins is in custody." May gave him an odd look. "Didn't you know? He was tried by the military court Talbot convened. One of the first sentenced, since he didn't attempt to defend himself. He's on death row in Leavenworth."

"Huh," Phil blinked. "Shit."

"What?"

"They'll try to break him out, surely. Rumlow will want his right-hand man back. We'd better warn Talbot."

The general laughed when Phil called him. "I know the man you're talking about. I can't imagine anyone would want to break him out. He's insane."

"Really?" Phil blinked at the screen.

"Indeed. Spends all day staring at odd messages he's put up on the cell walls."

"What kind of messages?"

Talbot shrugged. "They say things like _Is anybody there? Is anybody watching?_ And some of them say things like _Where is my daughter?"_

Phil felt suddenly cold. "I – think I'd like to arrange a visit," he managed to get out.

Talbot shrugged again. "If you want, Coulson. He won't talk, though. Never said a word throughout his trial, wouldn't even talk to the JAG lawyers appointed for him. I can't imagine you'll have much better luck."

Jack looked around in surprise as the small port in his cell door rattled open. "You've got a visitor, Rollins," a guard rapped out. "Assume the position."

He knew the drill. Went to his knees with his hands behind his head, waited while the guards entered and shackled his hands and feet with heavy chains.

"Who's the visitor?" he asked curiously.

"Some guy named Coulson," the guard answered.

_It couldn't be. Not possibly. But if it was_… Jack took a deep breath and closed his eye.

It _was_ Coulson. And he didn't look at all surprised to see Jack with one eye closed, when the guard pushed him down to a seat behind the glass.

There were no phones. Just a small grille in the glass.

"Coulson," Jack said quietly. "What do you want?"

"I want to know if you took that eye implant willingly, or if it was forced on you. And if you took it willingly, did you know what it could do?"

"I took it willingly," Jack admitted, "after I lost my eye on a mission. It wasn't until about eighteen months ago that I discovered it wasn't only me who could see with it."

"They took your daughter, didn't they?"

Jack let out a small groan, closing his other eye briefly and slumping in his seat. "I don't even know if she's still alive. There's been no messages for over a _year_."

"My fault, I'm afraid. We put the team that was controlling the eyes out of business. Nobody's looking, Rollins."

Jack sat still for a long moment. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Well, right now my hacker is sitting in a van outside waiting for you to look at me with that eye. As soon as you do, she's going to send you a message."

He hesitated. Looked at Phil with his human eye for a moment. Coulson had always been a straight-up kind of guy.

Slowly, Jack opened his cyber eye. For a moment, there was nothing. And then a line of text appeared.

WE'RE HERE TO HELP YOU.

"And how the hell are you going to do that?" Jack asked sarcastically, though he desperately wanted to believe.

"Well, first of all we're going to get you out. And then we'll help you find your daughter," Phil said. He lifted a sheet of paper, held it up to the glass.

Jack stared. "That's a presidential pardon," he said disbelievingly.

"It helps to have friends in high places," Phil replied with a grin.

"Why are you doing this?"

"You're not the only person to have been incentivised this way by HYDRA, Jack. And we need your help. I'm well aware that you have no reason to help me right now. But if we get you out and help you find your daughter…"

"If you can do that, I'm your man, Coulson. Whatever you need," Jack vowed.

"Even with this," Phil gestured at the signed pardon in his hand, "it's going to take a few days to get you out. We'll start looking for your daughter in the meantime."

Jack nodded silently. Almost disbelieving. Phil smiled at him. "See you in a few days."

Led back to his cell, Jack lay on his hard bed for a few minutes. And then he got up and ripped down all the papers on the wall, leaving them in a crumpled pile in the corner of the cell. He sat down on the edge of the bed, put his face in his hands and fought to keep his breathing steady.

After a few minutes, a message appeared in his eye.

HANG TIGHT, JACK. WE'LL FIND HER.

He smiled.

"Casey Rollins," Phil told Skye the moment he got back to the van. "If we can find her, we've got Jack. He's a good man, Skye. Always has been. I could well believe Rumlow to be HYDRA, but not Jack. He just wasn't the type."

"So it was an incentives program, like what Cybertek did to Mike and Ace?" Skye grimaced. "I'm on it, boss." She bent over her computers and was typing rapidly even before May had the van into motion.

She still had the feed from Jack Rollins' eye up on one screen. She'd watched as he tore down all the papers in his cell, watched now as he sat on the edge of his bed, saw his fingers pass over his eyes. It looked as though he was trying to suppress tears.

On impulse, Skye typed him a message. She had no way of knowing how or even if he would respond – until a hand lifted into view and gave her a thumbs-up.

Skye found herself smiling. She glanced at the SHIELD file open on another monitor. Jack Rollins, thirty-six, highly decorated Army Ranger before he joined SHIELD and quickly worked his way up through the ranks. Second in command of STRIKE Alpha team. He'd been severely injured on a mission four years ago, and Phil suspected that was when his eye had been swapped out, though HYDRA had deleted any records of it.

An attractive man, even with the long scar from lip to chin, Skye thought, looking at his image. Big, six foot three and the file said two hundred and ten pounds – which would be all solid muscle. She suppressed a little visceral shudder and bent back to her work.

It didn't take her long. She vaguely remembered a little blonde girl from the Cybertek breakout who hadn't seemed to belong to anyone. Casey was only five, and very traumatised. She hadn't spoken a single word since the rescue, not even her name, and had ended up in foster care.

Skye and Phil took a field trip. Finding Casey sitting alone in her shared room reading a story book, Skye pulled out her tablet and showed her a photo.

"Daddy!" the little girl cried out.

Her harried foster mother was quite happy to accept the official paperwork Phil produced – and the generous check – and in a very short time they were headed back to the Playground, the little girl curled happily on Skye's lap looking at every photo of her father Skye had been able to scrounge.

Casey fell asleep eventually, and Skye fumbled her into a more comfortable position on her lap so that she could free a hand to call up an app on her tablet and type in a message.

WE FOUND HER, JACK. CASEY'S SAFE.

Legalese held Jack's release up for another week, and in the meantime Casey clung to Skye. Phil told Skye to set up a suite for Casey and Jack in a comfortable, quiet corner of the base's accommodation area, and Skye spent as much time as she could making the area nice, taking Casey shopping to buy her all the little things a girl should have. Casey started talking, too, but only really to Skye or to the plush bear Skye had bought her and Casey decided to call Paddington, after her favourite story book.

They didn't want to take Casey anywhere near Leavenworth, so May and Coulson went down to collect Jack. Skye didn't tell Casey, just in case things went wrong and the release was delayed again, and she was sitting on the couch reading Casey a story when the door opened.

"Daddy!" Casey screamed, scrambled off Skye's lap and pelted across the room.

Jack went to his knees, wrapping her small body in his big arms, raining kisses on her face, tears pouring down his cheeks.

A little embarrassed, Skye made to leave, but Jack reached out a hand and grabbed hers as she passed him. "Thank you. You'll never know how much this means to me."

She froze, staring down at him. Hesitated for a long moment before nodding and smiling, pulling away and leaving the two of them alone. Because however much she'd wanted to speak – this was their moment. She wouldn't spoil it.

It was late that evening when there was a knock on her door. She opened it to find Jack standing there looking harried. "It's Skye, isn't it? Casey's asking for you."

She couldn't help but smile, wonder if this was the right time to speak – but no. Casey needed her. Shoving her feet into her shoes, she followed Jack silently back to his room, found Casey sulking because she didn't want to go to sleep until Skye had said good night.

"Now now, darling, this is a bit naughty," Skye reprimanded gently, bending over Casey's bed to give her a cuddle. "You're back with Daddy, who loves you so. You must be a good girl for him. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Just wanted to say g'night," Casey grumbled, and Skye kissed her soft cheek, smoothed her blonde curls.

"Good night then." She straightened up, watching the little girl's contented smile with one of her own, watched Jack hover over her for a moment before switching off the light. She followed him out of the room, watched as he closed the bedroom door, and took a deep breath. Jack spoke before she could.

"Thank you so much, Skye. Casey's been telling me how kind you've been to her, and Phil told me it was you that found her – if there's ever anything I can do for you, anything at all – please, don't hesitate to ask." He smiled genuinely down at her, held out a huge hand.

Skye looked down at the hand, looked up into his eyes, and licked her lips nervously. Saw him follow the movement, his pupils blowing out slightly. _Well, he finds me attractive, at least. Which is good, because I wanna climb him like a tree. Even if he isn't my soulmate. Oh please, please let him be the one…_

"I'll keep that in mind," she squeaked, in a voice much higher than her usual tones.

Jack's eyes widened and he stared hard at her. "What does your soulmark say?" he asked in a soft, gravelly voice.

For answer, Skye pulled up her shirt, showed him the words on her stomach. He traced them with a gentle finger, making her shudder, before pulling his own T-shirt up to reveal a _ridiculously_ muscular stomach and her scruffy scribble across his abs.

"Well," Jack murmured, looking down at the beautiful brunette his daughter was already devoted to, "looks like good things really do come in threes."

Skye gave him an enquiring look.

"I got out of prison, got Casey back, and found my soulmate all in one day." He smiled a slow, attractive smile. "I don't think days get any better than this."

Skye smiled, moved a little closer and reached up to rest her hands on his massive shoulders. "Well," she gave him a sultry look from under her eyelashes, "I'm sure if we put our heads together, we could think up a way to make today better still."

Jack grinned, his arms sliding around her waist. "Just our _heads_ together?" he murmured, his head dipping towards hers.

Skye found herself breathless. "We could start there, anyway. Move on to other things if that works out… umfff."

His mouth was hot and hungry, his arms powerful as he lifted her off her feet. Skye moaned as his tongue stroked over hers, wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her fingernails into his shoulders, urging him on as he pushed her against the wall and ground against her fiercely.

Skye woke as a small body snuggled into her side. Blinking her eyes open blearily, she got a faceful of golden curls.

Skye's whole body ached pleasurably, and there was a thickly muscled arm tucked around her waist, a heated male body behind her. Remembering the night before, she found a smile growing on her face.

"Are you gonna be my mommy now?" Casey asked.

Skye froze, and Jack's arm tightened around her. Warm lips caressed the back of her neck, and she looked down into the blue eyes gazing so trustingly up at her.

"I don't know much about being a mom," she admitted. "But – I'd like to try and figure it out, with you."

Casey smiled and snuggled tighter against her, and Jack moved his arm to hold them both close. "We'll figure it out together," he murmured softly against Skye's neck. "Our own little family."

Skye smiled, nuzzling back against him, hugging Casey tight. "Family," she whispered to them both.

**Quite a few people have asked for Rollins/Skye, or in fact Rollins/anyone. I couldn't figure out a way to turn him into a good guy until I thought of the eye thing, though! Hope you enjoyed!**

**And I had so many Skye-needs-a-family feels after the end of AoS, I couldn't quite resist giving her an instant one.**


	145. I Could Show You (Skye & Cyclops)

**I Could Show You**

_Skye/Scott Summers (Cyclops)_

_Cyquake, probably? Or Skyclops…_

**Theme song:**

**The Cult – She Sells Sanctuary**

**I've been thinking about the Fish Oil problem we saw at the end of Aos Season 2. And doing some maths. Let's say that maybe 1 in 1,000 people have the potential to be Inhumans. And let's say that 10,000 bottles of contaminated fish oil were distributed. The maths gives you an average of 10 people that would have been affected.**

**But what if some of them were a family? What if there were kids? Fish oil is given to kids as well, to improve brain function (I give kids' versions to my own sons).**

**I can see Skye and Lincoln setting up some sort of facility to help adults who gained powers, but how on earth would they deal with kids?**

**Well, there's a school for that…**

"I don't know what to do, sir," Skye said despairingly as Coulson came to stand beside her. "Lincoln's helped enormously, his understanding of how the transition occurs has helped us to stabilise them, but – they're children."

"Their parents?" Coulson asked quietly.

"Single mother. Father was a soldier, died in Afghanistan; he must have been the carrier because she took the contaminated tablets too and hasn't been affected."

Coulson sighed. It hadn't taken long to figure out that the fish oil tablets were the culprit, not after the first to transform accidentally burned down his own building. A few questions had established the last thing he did before a stone chrysalis formed over him. They'd issued a nationwide recall on the tablets, claiming they were contaminated with cyanide, but there were still a few cases cropping up. Like the two children in the garden outside. Brother and sister aged eleven and thirteen, they should be playing sports and doing their schoolwork, not learning to deal with new and unexpected powers.

The girl was sitting on the ground, a smile on her face. Birds of every species to be found in the area, including a few rare ones Coulson recognised, surrounded her. It looked like a scene from _The Birds_, but Phil could see that all the creatures wanted was to be near their new goddess. If anyone threatened her, though… he shuddered.

The boy stood at the far end of the small garden, leaning against a young tree, his eyes closed, his face peaceful. The tree was quite visibly growing, trunk thickening, branches lengthening, new leaves sprouting.

"I don't know what to do with them, Phil," Skye admitted. "They're nice kids, but… we can't exactly send them back to their mother. She's got another, younger child by a different father, they live in an apartment in Williamsburg. With powers like these…" she trailed off.

_Nature powers_, Phil thought. In such young children. He sighed. "There's a school," he said finally. "For Gifted youngsters."

Skye heard the emphasis he put on the word; her quick mind made the leap at once. "Xavier's, you mean? But they're not X-gene."

"They are Gifted, though." Phil watched the two children for a few minutes longer. "You should take a trip up there. Talk to the folks in charge. These two may not be the only ones we come across, after all. If they'd be willing to help out…"

Skye nodded. A sanctuary for the youngsters would be a blessing. Lincoln and Alisha were doing what they could, but none of them had any experience with kids.

Phil tracked down a number and made a call, and Skye found herself on the way to upstate New York, to Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, two excited children in the car and some very unhappy birds (and a lot of larger trees) left behind. The headmistress, Ms. Munroe, wanted to meet them and talk to them before she decided whether to permit them admission into the school, though she'd sounded encouraging on the phone.

Ororo Munroe was very intimidating in person, Skye found; she could almost feel the crackle of power inside her. Her smile was kind, though, and she took Tyler and Tanisha into her office for a brief interview. She and Skye had already had a long chat on the phone about the children and their potential, and about what being an Inhuman meant.

Skye wandered around the outer office for a few moments, looking at pictures and drawings up on the wall. Startled when the outer door opened, she whirled, dropping into a defensive crouch.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," the tall, dark-haired man with a visor covering his eyes said politely.

Skye blinked, a little stunned. "I – you didn't really," she managed before kicking herself for saying something so stupid and inane to her possibly-soulmate. "I'm just a little jumpy," she apologised, straightening up and holding out her hand.

She couldn't see his eyes behind the visor, but he'd gone very still, the muscles in his face tautening. He had quite magnificent cheekbones, Skye found herself thinking. And a dreamy mouth.

"Scott Summers," he said finally, holding out his hand.

"Agent Skye. From SHIELD." She took his hand and shook politely. He didn't say anything else, and she wondered if maybe she was mistaken. "Um. Scott – you said my soul words."

Could he actually see through that visor? His head was angled down towards her, but she really wasn't sure. "I could – show you?" They were on the inside of her left calf.

Still he was silent, until he turned around abruptly, shrugging off his jacket to drape it over a chair, before pulling up the back of his shirt. "Or I could show _you_?"

Yes, that was her writing, all right, scribbled words in the small of his back. Skye thought about wrapping her legs around his lean waist and blushed very red.

There was a flush on those high cheekbones as Scott turned back to her, letting the back of his shirt drop, and she wondered suddenly if he was naturally shy, if his silence was due to feeling awkward. Or maybe he was wondering where her soulmark was?

"Mine's on my calf," she uttered, and watched in fascination as his blush spread, the tips of his ears glowing red. "The _inside_ of my calf. I'd have to have my legs wrapped around your waist."

Scott laughed, finally. "Now you're just trying to embarrass me."

"More like draw you out. Is it working?" She gave him a cheeky smile.

"I daresay it is. I'm," he hesitated, "kinda reticent. It's just how I am."

Skye smiled again. "Well, I'm often told I can talk the hind leg off a donkey, so I expect I can manage to talk enough for both of us."

Scott smiled back at her. "The kids will be in with 'Ro a while longer, I expect, and then she'll probably take them for a walk around the school. Would you like to come get a coffee with me?"

"I'd like that very much," Skye said, and put her hand into his when he offered it.

**Scott's kind of a quiet sort of guy, I think. And I think he'd be wary about jumping headlong into anything, as would Skye, but I could see him leaving the school and going to fight alongside her with SHIELD.**


	146. STRIKE Team Uncles

**STRIKE Team Uncles **

**I am totally blaming Queen Isabella for this. She left me a comment (on ) on the Skye/Rollins Soulmate Short including the following seven words: 'STRIKE team Uncles. Tea parties in tactical gear.'**

**This caused a plot fairy glitter grenade to go off in my brain. It's ALL HER FAULT. (Angsty fairy then sneaked in with Tragic Dust. God damn it).**

**This may be considered a prequel to the Skye/Rollins Short, and because I always want Rumlow to be a good guy really, it's also in the same universe as the Rumlow/Bucky Short. It occurs about six months after Avengers Assemble, well before the events of Winter Soldier. I thought I might tell the story from Steve's POV, as he gets to know the STRIKE team…**

"I hear you want to be useful."

Steve dropped his fists from the punching bag and turned. Somehow he wasn't surprised to see Nick Fury standing there, arms folded, even though they were in a private gym in the newly renamed (and rebuilt) Stark Tower, and he already knew Stark and Fury weren't exactly the best of friends.

Steve took a moment before shrugging. "There doesn't seem to be a whole lot for me to do here," he admitted honestly. "And out there," he waved at the spectacular view of New York visible from the one-way glass windows, "it's – it's a jungle out there. I can't go outside without causing a media scrum. Stark and Banner are lost in Science!, Thor's gone back to Asgard, Barton and Romanoff are who knows where…"

"So to sum up, you're bored and lonely and you have no friends."

"Well, that's kinda blunt," Steve said, "but… yeah."

"I have a solution, if you'd care to hear it."

"As long as you don't want to turn me into a performing monkey, I'm all ears." He began to unwrap his hands.

"Come work with SHIELD. You'll be free to return here at any time if the Avengers are needed. But I promise you won't be bored. You might even make friends."

Steve stilled, thinking bleakly of his friends. Bucky, Dum Dum, Gabe, Morita… _Peggy_. All dead, save Peggy, who only knew him on her good days. "Like who?" he said bitterly.

"Romanoff and Barton, for starters," Fury said dryly.

"Oh." He hadn't had much chance to spend time with either, but he'd very much liked both the taciturn, dedicated archer and the clever, capable ex-Russian assassin. "I'd – be working with them?"

"At least some of the time. What I'd really like to do, though, is attach you to STRIKE. Romanoff and Barton are STRIKE Team Delta, specialists in infiltration, but we have others; Alpha Team is our primary fast-response unit. I think it would suit your skills very well to work with them. And I think you'd get on well with them. They're all ex-paramilitary, best of the best. The modern day version of the Howling Commandos, if you like."

That last sentence sold Steve on the idea, as Fury had known it would. Blue eyes brightened and Steve nodded quickly. "Sounds good to me, sir."

"You'll need to relocate to Washington. I'll have Personnel find you an apartment." _And plant someone to keep an eye on you_…

Eager to start, Steve managed his relocation in double-quick time. He turned up for work at the Triskelion bright and early one morning less than a week later. Agent Hill came down to collect him, had him issued with a clearance card and led him deep into the labyrinthine corridors of the massive building.

"Where are we going, ma'am?" Steve asked politely, keeping pace easily with her long-legged stride.

"The STRIKE gym," Hill said succinctly. "I'll introduce you to Rumlow and leave you in his hands."

"Er, Rumlow?" Steve asked, feeling foolish. But even Tony hadn't been able to get him any real information on SHIELD's STRIKE teams.

"Agent Rumlow, commander of STRIKE Team Alpha. He'll get you set up, introduce you to the rest." Hill didn't even look at him, just kept striding on. Steve shut up and hoped Rumlow wasn't as taciturn as Hill.

He would have held the door open for Hill, except that like apparently every other door in the modern building, it slid open as she held her ID card against a panel. He followed her in to find a gym even more magnificently equipped than the one at Avengers Tower, occupied by just eight men – no, two of them were women, he realised, looking around. Six men and two women.

Two of the men were going at it in what Steve recognised, wide-eyed, as a fight cage. It was a no-holds-barred bout, knees, elbows, everything being employed – and they were _good_, fast and hard. And none of the other STRIKE members were even bothering to watch, except for a black-haired, swarthy-skinned man, standing with folded arms beside the cage and occasionally shouting out critical remarks.

"Agent Rumlow," Hill called.

"Break," the man ordered, turning away from the cage. He didn't bother to watch, Steve saw, confident that the two other men would obey. Which they did, instantly. "Ma'am." He tipped his head very slightly in Hill's direction, hard dark eyes raking over Steve. "Captain Rogers." A very slight smile touched his thickly stubbled face, and then he was striding forward, offering a hand. "Good to meet you. Brock Rumlow."

The grip was strong but not crushing. Steve found himself liking the other man at once, seeing in him a leader to be respected, and the next few minutes did nothing to dispel that as Hill departed and Rumlow called over his team and introduced them one by one. They all shook hands with the same calm, respectful manner as Rumlow, and Rumlow introduced them by not only their full name but also their specialties within STRIKE. Steve concentrated to learn them.

Tyler Ramirez, a whip-thin Hispanic guy who Rumlow called 'technical specialist'. Sandra Wallace, a fragile-looking blonde who was an explosives expert. Rob Bellamy, sniper, and Tim Bellamy, Rob's non-identical twin brother, team medic. Jay Chong, a big Korean-American machine gunner. Tamika Kelley, the other woman, a black girl nearly as tall as Steve, who Rumlow introduced with a grin as 'silent combat'.

"And that means…?" Steve asked.

Tamika slipped a knife from – _somewhere_, what the _hell_? – and rolled it across her knuckles before making it vanish again. "It means I go in first if we need everyone dead quietly," she said, deadpan.

"I… see," Steve said with a blink, before looking at the one STRIKE team member he hadn't been introduced to yet. The guy was huge, as big as Steve himself, closely shaven head and steady hazel eyes, a nasty scar from his lip to his chin that made Steve inwardly wince in sympathy. That had to have hurt like hell.

"And this is Jack Rollins," Rumlow clapped a hand on Rollins' massive shoulder. "My second in command. And our point man, usually, though I understand that's somewhat of your specialty."

"I don't mind," Rollins grinned, shaking Steve's hand. "Someone else to soak up the hail of bullets is fine by me."

They really were soldiers, Steve realised, combat veterans with all the gallows humour that implied. No doubt they were all competent with any kind of weapon – or without, having seen the Bellamy twins in the cage when he walked in. He didn't intend to underestimate any of them.

"Nice setup you have here," he said politely to Rumlow.

"Everything we could want," the other man agreed. He smiled, a tight, knowing little grin. "Fancy a couple of rounds in the cage, Cap?"

It was a test, of course. "Any time you like," Steve said calmly. He glanced at Rollins. "Why not let me pick on someone my own size, though?"

Rumlow, a half head shorter than both of them, laughed. "Be my guest."

About five minutes later, Steve staggered out of the cage and collapsed to sit down. Rumlow dropped a water bottle beside him, laughing quietly.

"What the hell do you feed him, raw meat?" Steve gasped.

Rollins was lying flat on his back in the middle of the cage. He rolled over with a groan as Steve spoke. Steve had pulled his punches – or he'd done his best to. Rollins hadn't.

There was no sympathy in Rumlow's expression. "You'll do," he said to Steve, before clambering into the cage. "You right, Jack?"

"Will be in a minute. He split my lip. Casey's gonna notice," Jack spat blood.

Rumlow's expression changed instantly. "Tim, get over here! Rollins needs patching up, now!"

Steve watched in some bemusement as the medic rushed over and started fussing over Rollins' split lip.

"Who's Casey?" he asked as Rumlow came back over to him.

"Jack's girl."

"Does she not know what he does?"

"Not his _girlfriend_. His daughter. She worries if she sees him hurt. Don't punch him in the face again, Cap, please."

"Of course!" he agreed immediately. Somehow, he hadn't really expected any of these hardened agents to have a family. "Do you have any kids, Rumlow?"

"Nah. None of us got families. Just Jack."

Steve found himself slotting comfortably into the STRIKE team. The Bellamy brothers invited him over to their place one Sunday afternoon for a backyard barbecue; the others were all there, except for Rollins. Barton turned up unexpectedly, though, and was obviously on good terms with all of them. He challenged Rumlow to a jovial arm-wrestling match after a lot of beers which ended with no clear winner and both of them falling in the swimming pool. Steve hadn't laughed so much in years.

It was the following morning when he found himself riding his bike into the Triskelion's parking garage just as Rollins got out of an SUV and lifted an adorable curly-haired blonde moppet out of a carseat in the back.

"Hey, Cap," Jack nodded cheerfully to him as they headed to the elevator together. The little girl peeked at Steve before hiding her face shyly against Jack's shoulder.

"Is this your daughter?" Steve asked, surprised. Somehow, he'd got the idea that Rollins' daughter was older. The little girl was – maybe four? He had no experience with small children whatsoever.

"Yes, this is Casey. Say hello to Mr Rogers, Casey," Jack said.

"Hello," a small voice said, but the little face remained hidden.

"It's nice to meet you, Casey," Steve said, amused. "I work with your daddy, did you know that?"

One blue eye peeked at him through a tangle of golden curls. "You're not one of my uncas or arnies," Casey said in a defiant tone.

"He's new, Casey, you just haven't met him yet," Jack said placatingly. "Sorry, Steve," he muttered in an undertone. "She's claimed the whole team as her uncles and aunties…"

The other blue eye appeared. "Are you gonna be one of my uncas too?"

"If you like," Steve said, amused.

"Uncle Steeb," Casey decided, "you'd better gimme a kiss, then." She presented a porcelain cheek.

Utterly charmed, he obediently placed a kiss on her cheek. Jack rolled his eyes as Casey bestowed a radiant smile on Steve. "Yet another conquest, princess," he said with a grin. "I'm gunna have my hands full fending the admirers off in a few years," he told Steve.

"You're not wrong." Steve found himself chuckling as the doors opened. Jack headed out, and Steve glanced at the floor listing, bemused. _Wow_. SHIELD had an on-site crèche. Well, he supposed it would probably save issues with security clearance.

Rollins cornered him a few days later. "Casey wants to invite you to tea," he said.

"Um?" was about all Steve could think of to say.

Rollins laughed at his expression. "Just say yes. Or I'll have to put up with pouting and tears all weekend. Three o'clock, Saturday. I'll text you the address."

Steve was most amused, on Saturday, to find that he wasn't the only invitee, when he stepped up onto the verandah at Rollins' house. Rumlow was there too, he and Rollins bending their long legs to fit them under the tiny table at which Casey presided. Steve eyed the remaining vacant chair doubtfully.

"It'll hold you," Jack said, "I built it. They hold us all right."

"Okay," Steve shrugged, eased himself carefully down onto the chair and wedged his legs under the table. "Gotta say I didn't expect to see you here, Rumlow," he remarked to the STRIKE leader as Casey carefully poured him a cup of iced tea, Jack's big hand unobtrusively helping her hold the jug.

Rumlow's swarthy skin didn't show much colour, but there was definitely a slight flush on his cheekbones as he lifted his cup and drank.

"Oh, Brock's her favourite," Jack chuckled quietly. "He's here every Saturday."

Steve was hard put not to laugh. It just seemed so _unlikely_. Rollins and Rumlow were two of the hardest, most ruthless, most competent men he'd ever met – and they were both quite clearly wrapped around Casey Rollins' pinky finger.

Casey served them little cakes and chattered away to the three men. Steve choked on his tea the first time he heard her call Rumlow "Unca Rock." Rumlow kicked him under the table, almost sending it flying.

"What does Jack do with Casey when we're away overnight?" Steve asked Rumlow curiously when Rollins took his daughter inside to the bathroom.

"His neighbours work for SHIELD. Low level analysts," Rumlow waved a hand at the house next door. "They have a couple of kids just a little older than Casey, and they know who Jack is. She goes to them."

"The mother's not on the scene?"

Rumlow shook his head, looking a little angry. "Ellen and Jack had a pretty brief fling: she literally turned up on his doorstep one day a few months after they broke up and handed him Casey. Just a few weeks old. Jack was pretty lost for a bit. Had to take leave. I tracked Ellen down. Too late. She'd OD'd on heroin with her new boyfriend."

"How terrible," Steve felt a bit sick.

"Casey's better off without her. Better no mom than one who'd put drugs before her child." Rumlow's face was closed, harsh, and Steve wondered if he was speaking from experience.

"I daresay you're right," he said quietly as Jack and Casey returned.

Apparently the tea party was over, because Casey was tugging at his hand and Rumlow was getting up.

"Come on, Uncle Steeb! You have to come play with me now!"

Which was how he found himself sitting on the floor in a room decorated entirely in purple – apparently Casey preferred purple to pink – being introduced to her _extremely large_ collection of stuffed animals.

Casey had climbed into Rumlow's lap while Jack cleared up the tea things. Steve had noticed that Rumlow, for once, was clean-shaven, and realised why when Casey rubbed her head against his cheek. His usual stubble would have snagged on those silky blonde curls, pulled her hair.

Soon, the little girl's eyes started to droop. Steve expected Rumlow to put her straight into bed, but she'd been asleep for a good ten minutes, cradled in the STRIKE leader's muscular arms, before he finally got up and tucked her very gently into her bed before gesturing Steve out.

"Never thought I'd see the day _you_ were wrapped around a woman's finger," Steve joked gently. Rumlow had already calmly admitted one day that he was gay, when Steve asked if he had a girlfriend somewhere. It didn't bother Steve and it clearly didn't bother any of the rest of the STRIKE team either.

"Shut it, Rogers," Rumlow's fist connected hard with his short ribs, which only made Steve laugh. He followed the other man into the kitchen, where a grinning Rollins handed them both beers.

"She's a heartbreaker, Jack," Steve said, accepting the bottle.

"I know. She's turning four, a week next Thursday; we're having a party. You're invited."

"I'd be honoured," Steve said genuinely, already knowing what he was going to buy for Casey. She didn't have a Bucky Bear in that stuffed animal collection.

A week later, though, they were sent out to a hostage situation developing in Libya. It dragged on and on, and Steve could see Rollins – and Rumlow – getting more and more impatient as the time dragged by. They weren't the only ones; the rest of the STRIKE team were getting antsy as well, until Kelley finally snapped.

"Send me in, boss," she pleaded with Rumlow. "We gotta get a move on." She looked meaningfully at her watch.

Rumlow's jaw tightened. He peered again through his scope. Glanced at Rollins, who was leaning against the rear wall of their command post, angrily snapping his gum and tapping his foot.

"Fuck it. We're all going in. Suit up. We move out in ten minutes."

"Is this really the right decision, Rumlow?" Steve queried as a low cheer went up, the team scattering to grab their gear. Nothing had changed in the situation in the last few hours, after all.

"It's my decision to make. Get your shield, Cap. Or we'll go in without you."

Steve nodded without further hesitation. He could see in those hard dark eyes that Rumlow wouldn't be moved. _Well_. Steve firmed his jaw. If they were doing this, he'd make damn sure they did it right. And he'd make _absolutely_ sure Rollins got back home safe for Casey's birthday party.

It ended up being Rollins and Rumlow who shot the opposition off his ass, when it came down to it, though. The mission was an unqualified success – though it might not have been if it hadn't turned out that Romanoff was in the building all along. The STRIKE team stormed the room with the hostages in only to find Natasha efficiently garrotting the last terrorist.

"What _took_ you lot so long?" she demanded, letting the body fall. "Don't you have a party to get back to, Jack?"

"We're gonna be late," Rollins said dismally, checking his watch.

Natasha smiled. "That's why I had Barton steal Stark's new, improved quinjet. Much faster than ours. Let's go."

Stark's new quinjet was indeed faster, but it didn't have any of their equipment on board, so they couldn't change out of their tactical gear. They dumped their weapons, though, and as soon as they landed at the Triskelion there was a veritable scrum to get out and race for the elevators.

"Goddamn it, what!" Rollins pounded at the control panel as the elevator started moving down instead of up. "I don't have time for this!"

The doors slid open and Maria Hill stood there, arms folded. "Out."

"Not now, damn it!" Rumlow snapped. "We've got a birthday party to get to, we'll debrief later."

"_Out_!" Hill glared, tapping her foot impatiently.

They were on the top floor, Steve recognised the windows to Fury's office. And if Fury didn't want them leaving the building, they wouldn't be leaving. He sighed and stepped forward. "Let's get this over with quickly, then… oh." He started to grin. "Rollins. You're going to want to get out here."

The door to Fury's office stood open, and the entire room had been redecorated – with purple streamers, a banner saying _HAPPY BIRTHDAY CASEY_, and – was that a _mirrorball_ hanging from the ceiling? There was even pop music playing.

The STRIKE team filed in one by one, gaping at the sight which greeted them, of Casey Rollins sitting in Nick Fury's lap behind his desk, listening raptly as the Director of SHIELD read to her from a storybook. The desk itself had been covered with a purple and white checked cloth, piled high with presents – Steve recognised the gaily wrapped parcel that he'd left on the couch in his apartment, and shook his head with wonder.

They were grimy, sweaty, crusted with sand from days in the desert wearing their tactical gear, some of them blood-stained from the death they'd dealt half a world away. Steve was pretty sure they all stank like week-old fish, too. But as Casey looked up and saw them, the smile on her face said she didn't care in the slightest.

"DADDY!" she screamed, scrambled off Fury's lap and came racing over to Jack, who swept her up in his arms and rained kisses all over her face.

'Unca Rock' was next, and then 'Arny Tasha' and 'Unca Clin'. Steve was very surprised, and the recipient of not a few jealous looks from the rest of the STRIKE team, when he was next on Casey's list for hugs and kisses. She left nobody out, though, and soon enough had them all seated (on purple cushions on the floor) to her satisfaction, migrating from lap to lap demanding cuddles.

Casey was wearing a brand-new, purple and gold frock, a tiara on her golden curls. She looked every inch the princess they all treated her as, Steve thought, as he heard Rollins thanking Fury and Hill in rather choked tones.

"It's nothing, Jack," Fury said quietly. "We know what Casey means to you. To all of you."

"Still. Thank you."

Casey was unwrapping a present from Clint, which turned out to be a Nerf Rebelle bow and a rather large package of spare arrow darts. Casey squealed and jumped up and down excitedly, demanding Clint teach her how to shoot it immediately. Within minutes she was standing on Fury's desk taking remarkably accurate potshots at a picture of the Secretary of Defense on the wall, encouraged by Clint.

"The guy's an asshole, Fury. I know he's an old buddy of yours, but…"

"Language, Barton," Fury reprimanded, "we don't need little ears picking up your bad habits. You only don't like Secretary Pierce because he's in charge and you don't like authority figures."

"You're one to talk, Mr M.F! But you're absolutely correct." Clint grinned and reached out to help Casey reload. "Right between the eyes, sweetheart, that's it – perfect!"

"He's corrupting her," Steve told Jack.

"Seriously?" Jack gestured around the room. "That's the most innocent of the skills she'll learn from this lot. At least archery is a legitimate sport."

"So is pistol shooting," Rumlow protested.

"And rifle shooting!" Tim Bellamy put in.

"And judo," Natasha added.

"Death by thighs does not count, Romanoff," Jack said sternly.

"You can't deny it'll be a useful skill for her to learn, though." Natasha flipped her red hair and grinned. Hill, Kelley and Wallace all nodded in agreement.

"And _these _are the closest my baby girl has to a mother figure," Jack said despairingly.

"She could do a great deal worse than emulate any or all of them," Steve said firmly.

The four women all smiled approvingly at him.

"We need to find him a girlfriend," Maria said then.

"You're right," Sandra Wallace agreed. She tilted her head, considering Steve. "What about Melinda, from Admin?"

"May, you mean? She's been reassigned. Acting as pilot for a new team," Hill shook her head.

"Huh, shame, she'd have been firm enough to manage him," Natasha tilted her head in just the same way as Wallace, and Steve had a terrible sinking feeling that he was probably doomed. "We'll have to put our heads together and come up with a list, girls. So tell us, Steve. What do you look for in a woman?"

He was saved by Casey tugging on his hand at that moment, and turned to her in relief.

"Can I open your pwesen' now, Unca Steeb?" She fluttered ridiculously long eyelashes at him.

"Of course you can, princess," he scooped her up hastily and fled the four adult women who were studying him speculatively. Sitting down with Casey on his lap, he grabbed the brightly wrapped package and handed it to her. She tore into the wrapping eagerly, crying out with delight as the bear was revealed in its blue Army uniform and hugging it to her.

"This is a very special bear," Steve told her, a lump welling in his throat as it always did – always _would_ – when he thought of Bucky. "It's a Bucky Bear."

Bucky Bear received his very own cushion to sit on once Casey had opened the rest of her presents, and then she decreed that they were all to have tea. Steve found himself shaking his head in amazement as Natasha and Hill helped her serve iced tea to all of the soldiers – and Fury, who took a cushion on the floor among them with no sign of discomfort.

He soon discovered that the 'iced tea' he received was the Long Island variant, as the alcohol fumes wafted to his nose. It wouldn't affect him, of course, but he saw more than one of the STRIKE team take a gulp and sigh in relief. They were all exhausted, sore, desperately in need of showers and sleep – and there was nowhere any of them wanted to be more right now than sitting right here making one little girl's birthday party perfect for her.

There was cake, of course, party hats and streamers and dancing, Natasha falling asleep on the floor with her head pillowed on Clint's thigh. She'd been awake longer than any of them. Finally even Casey was tired out and Rollins scooped her into his arms, her little head nodding against his shoulder.

"Thank you for this," he said gruffly, "thank you all so much."

There was a soft chorus of "Any time, Jack," and "Anything for Casey," as Hill started to pack up the gifts.

"I'll have them dropped off to your place later," she told Rollins.

"Bucky Bear," Casey demanded petulantly, reaching a tiny hand out as Hill picked up the bear. It was tucked into her arm and Jack took his leave after another thank you.

"Casey's adorable, isn't she?" Steve said to Rumlow as they stood in the elevator on the way down. "It's amazing how she's got a whole pack of hardened killers dancing to her every whim."

That made Rumlow smile. "She's beautiful."

"God help her boyfriends when she gets to dating age."

"She's got a soulmate mark," Rumlow said, a bit unexpectedly. "We'll make her wait for him."

"Oh." Steve hesitated. "Was her mom – Jack's soulmate?"

"Hell no, she was a fling. Jack hasn't found his yet. Hopefully he will soon. Casey needs a mom."

Steve chewed on his lip for a moment. Soulmate marks had been uncommon back in the forties. He hadn't had one, neither had Buck – but when he woke from his icy sleep, there had been words etched on his hip. He still wasn't sure how common they were in the present day. Nor if it was still considered impolite to ask about them. But then – Rumlow _had_ brought up the subject.

"Are you Marked, Brock?"

The elevator doors opened at that moment on the level where the STRIKE team had their ready rooms. Rumlow stepped out in silence, and they were almost to the rooms when he spoke again.

"Yeah. My soulmate's out there in the world somewhere."

It wasn't until over a year later that Steve found out Rumlow hadn't meant that he hadn't _found_ his soulmate yet.

**So, yeah, this isn't technically a Soulmate Short. But it **_**is**_** the prequel to more than one… check back tomorrow to see Steve find his!**


	147. Not My Secret (May & Steve)

**Not My Secret**

_Steve/May_

_CavalryCaptain – or Stevinda, possibly?_

**Theme song:**

**Matchbox Twenty – Push**

**Yes, this is part of the STRIKE Uncles AU. And yes, following lots of shouting and handwaving and begging, I will be breaking this AU off and putting it in its own fic, with extra bits and stuff and more Casey cuteness. It's going to take time to sort out, though, because Rumlow's part in particular is very broken-up, timewise. Be patient, y'all.**

**Note that neither Rumlow nor Rollins had any idea that the other one was being coerced by HYDRA. Casey was taken, and Jack forced to comply, immediately after the Lemurian Star mission. Therefore, they both think that the other was WILLINGLY working for HYDRA during the whole Winter Soldier episode. **

**And sorry to those of you who rather liked the rest of the STRIKE team (especially the badass chicks) but they were all killed in the Triskelion in this AU. Otherwise I think they'd have been out there causing mayhem and hunting for Casey. They may possibly make appearances in future fics of mine, though, since I went to all that trouble to invent them!**

**In the meantime, I did promise that Steve would get his own soulmate, too. This fic takes place after Brock and Bucky go to the Avengers; the two of them went off somewhere to finish recovering while the events of AoU happened, and rejoined the others at the New Avengers Facility. **

"So let's get this straight," Steve leaned on the table, massaged his temples with his fingers. "Despite us flattening every HYDRA base in existence, and destroying their power structure completely – some moron is trying to build it back up again?"

Brock grinned. "Yup."

"How fucking stupid can people _get_?" It was Sam, blunt as ever, who said it. There was a series of short laughs around the conference table.

"Grant Ward's not stupid," Natasha shook her head, though. "Far from it. Sociopathic, almost certainly. But very smart, and not to be underestimated. If he's in charge, HYDRA will be a very different creature to what we've been dealing with. They'll be elusive; underground, difficult to find." She grimaced. "And who knows what their motives will be, now?"

Brock leaned back in his chair. Looked at Bucky, who nodded infinitesimally. "We could find out."

All eyes turned to the two of them. "What do you mean, _we_?" Steve asked warily.

Wanda sucked in a breath. "That's very dangerous," she murmured under her breath.

"And don't do that," Brock pointed a finger at her. "Very rude."

She blushed a little bit, and looked away.

"As Wanda already realises, the plan is for me to go in and play loyal HYDRA lackey returning to the fold. Bringing with me a most excellent asset, in order to quickly work my way up the chain of command to the big boss. Ward."

"Asset – oh, _no_," Steve realised instantly what he meant. "Bucky, no!"

Bucky grinned. "C'mon, Stevie. They'll be creaming their shorts at the thought of getting the Winter Soldier back again. Brock's known to have worked with him – me, that is. We can play it that Brock knew enough trigger command words to get the Soldier back under control after the fall of SHIELD, but lay low until he was ready to move."

"Does anyone in HYDRA yet live who knows you did not serve them willingly?" It was Vision who spoke, looking at Brock.

"No. There were very few in the first place. I always got my orders from Pierce or Sitwell, and they're both definitely dead."

There were a lot more arguments, and thrashing out of tactics, but in the end they all concluded that this was the best – perhaps the only – way to take HYDRA, and Grant Ward, out of play for good.

"Get him killed, I'll kill you," Steve growled in Brock's ear just before they left, his hand a near-crushing grip on Brock's elbow.

"If I get him killed, _I'll_ kill me, you moron. He's my _soulmate_." Brock rolled his eyes at Steve and got in the car. Bucky hip-checked Steve on his way past.

"Keep your hands off my man, punk."

Steve couldn't help but laugh.

xoxoxoxoxox

"So," Phil said, "Brock Rumlow."

He watched as Jack Rollins' hands clenched on the edge of the desk, with enough force that he almost expected the timber to start cracking.

"He had to have known who was calling the shots. I didn't like the fucking orders, but I had no choice to carry them out. With me backing him up, the rest of the team followed my lead. And then he launched those damned Helicarriers." Jack shook his head slowly. "I didn't _want_ to believe it. He was my _friend_. I nearly cracked, started talking, when the JAGs told me what he'd done."

"We thought he'd died, along with the rest of STRIKE Team Alpha. But his body was never recovered. And now his name's cropped up again. You knew him better than anyone, Jack. You knew safehouses that he had off the grid. Where do we start looking?"

Jack shook his head, slowly. "I don't think I actually knew him at all." His jaw clenched, and Phil could actually hear him grinding his teeth. "Eight fucking _years_, I had his back, and he had mine," he spat out. "He's Casey's _godfather_, for Chrissakes! She adored him! And now I have to wonder, was he a part of taking her away from me? Did he _tell_ them that was the way to break me?"

There was nothing Phil could say as the massive agent got to his feet, stumbled towards the wall and leant his forearm against it, pressing his face against his arm for a moment, breathing heavily.

The door flew open just seconds later and Skye came rushing in, running to Jack and flinging her arms around him. "Jack! Jack, darling, what is it?"

It had only been three days, Phil realised, since Skye and Jack discovered they were soulmates, but they'd obviously bonded, and deeply, if she could feel his distress like this.

Jack groaned and wrapped his arms around Skye, pressing his face against her hair for a moment. "Where's Casey?" he mumbled after a minute.

"In the kitchen. Hunter's making her pancakes." Skye reached up to caress his cheek. "What is it, Jack?"

He shook his head slowly. "The betrayal of a friend – why does that _hurt_ so much?"

Skye stilled, glanced at Phil. "I wish I knew," she said finally, with a sad little smile. "But we can't control other people's choices and actions, love. Only our own."

He sighed and nodded. "True." With one last tight hug, and a kiss to her brow, he set her gently aside. "Go be with Casey, darling. I need to fill Coulson in on some stuff."

Skye looked up into his eyes for a moment searchingly, and then she hooked a hand around his neck and pulled him down towards her, standing on tiptoe until their lips met in a soft, clinging kiss. "Come find me when you're done and I'll make you feel better," she said with an inviting smile before slipping out of the office.

Phil had hastily averted his eyes, a slight flush on his cheeks, Jack noticed as he sat back down. Well, he'd already had Phil's version of a shovel talk – which was surprisingly even more terrifying than May's, despite Phil's bland demeanour. Ignoring the older man's embarrassment, he said; "I don't know if he'll have abandoned them, because I know of their location. On the other hand, if he still thinks I'm on death row in Leavenworth, he might well not have. There's three safehouses I know about…"

xoxoxoxoxox

Grant Ward was a wary bastard, Brock realised pretty quickly. He wouldn't agree to face to face meetings yet – Brock had no idea where in the world he was, even. His flat black eyes had brightened when he realised Brock had control of the Winter Soldier, though, and he'd leaned forward with eagerness into the video pickup, asking questions about the Asset's capabilities.

Brock glanced over his shoulder at Bucky, who stood at parade rest in the corner, hands clasped behind his back, his crystal blue gaze flat and dead. "He'll do anything I order him to."

"And another handler?" Ward asked.

Brock smiled, showing his teeth. "I don't think so, Mr Ward. If I give up those commands to another handler, my value to the organisation is diminished, is it not?"

Ward's returning smile was tight, and he nodded in acknowledgement. "Your point is noted, Rumlow. Very well. I'll be in touch." His eyes went past Rumlow's shoulder, looking at Bucky again. "I believe I would like a demonstration. I'll arrange something."

The screen went dark, but Brock still switched the computer off, unplugged the microphone and camera before turning to Bucky. "Same shitheads, different day."

Bucky started to laugh, dropping out of his rigid pose. "Exactly what I was thinking!"

The door was slightly open; Steve, hearing Bucky laugh, peered through it. "All clear?"

"Sure." Brock lounged back in his office chair as Bucky came over, put a warm hand on the back of his neck and gently began to massage away the tension. They were in one of Brock's old safehouses; he was pretty sure it had never been compromised, the place was very isolated and when they got there it had gathered a layer of dust. The only person who ever even knew it existed apart from Brock was Rollins, and that bastard was on death row at Leavenworth for his crimes. Brock bared his teeth as he thought of Rollins.

"Sshh," Bucky rubbed harder, trying to soothe him.

"Sorry, love," Brock reached back and put a hand on his. "Just thinking about betrayal and how much it hurts." He met Steve's eyes. "I never did apologise to you properly. I know you accepted my reasons, but – I'm sorry. It hurts so fucking much when people you thought were friends stab you in the back."

Steve nodded slowly. "Who are you thinking of?"

"Rollins."

Steve's expression darkened as well. "I know. I couldn't believe it of him, even more so than you. When he nearly shot me in the street…"

"I practically had to drag him off. I was sure he was gonna execute you then and there until he looked up and saw that news chopper." Brock shook his head.

"Yeah, just incredible. Considering Casey, and everything." Steve paused, tilted his head. "I know Rollins is in Leavenworth – but what happened to Casey?"

Brock blinked. "I've no idea. I spent a fair few weeks after the Triskelion in a coma until Buck came for me." He frowned. "Fucking hell. I never even thought about Casey. Shit." He felt immediately guilty, turned to the computer. "She was probably adopted out. Adorable little thing like that, they'd have had no problem finding her a family. I daresay she's better off – but I'm gonna check up, make sure she's all right." He switched the monitor back on and started tapping keys.

Bucky and Steve exchanged a look and, in silent accord, left him to it.

xoxoxoxoxox

"He's not alone in there." May peered through the infra-red scope. "There's three people inside."

Rollins borrowed them to have a look himself. "Three or thirty-three. They're all going down."

They were lying side-by side on a brushy hilltop several hundred yards away. Skye crouched a few paces behind them, breathing slowly, her eyes closed as she prepared to use her powers. Not far away, Bobbi, Hunter and Lincoln awaited their signal. Mack, Coulson, Fitz and Jemma had stayed back at base with Casey, who had attached herself to the whole squad, adopting them all as her uncles and aunties, breaking Jack's heart yet again as he remembered how she'd once been with the STRIKE team. All dead now, save for the traitor and his cronies in the safehouse in Jack's sights.

Breathing slowly, Jack lowered the scope and looked at May. "It's your call," he deferred to her. She gave him a tight, approving nod.

"Move in," she said quietly on her com.

It was Lincoln, unused to covert operations, who gave them away. He stepped on a twig which cracked as loudly as a gunshot in the night, and couldn't help a short "Shit!" which escaped his lips. Everyone froze for a moment, Hunter turning to glare at the younger man, before moving on again, confident that they were far enough away they wouldn't have been heard.

Inside the cabin, Steve's head snapped up. "We've got company."

Bucky was on his feet at once, grabbing for weapons. Brock dashed out of the other room and scooped up his weapons harness, yanking it on across his shoulders and snapping the buckle in the middle of his chest.

Steve just picked up his shield. "Inside or out?"

The ground began to shake. Lightly at first, and then much harder.

"Out!" all three of them decided at once.

None of them went for the door, or even windows. They'd have died in a hail of bullets if they had. Steve and Bucky went straight through the cabin's thin walls, using shield and cyber-arm as battering rams, and Brock followed hard on Bucky's heels.

They took the SHIELD team by surprise. They'd been watching the doors and windows, hadn't expected the three combatants to come charging straight through solid walls. Bobbi, still weak on her bad knee, tripped trying to change direction too fast and fell: Hunter threw himself atop her protectively and fired off a shot, which bounced off Bucky's arm and whizzed about an inch over Lincoln's head. Lincoln instinctively flung up his hands and let fly with a massive bolt of static electricity – which shorted Bucky's arm out and sent him to the ground, writhing with pain.

Only then did the team hear May's voice screaming "Stand down! SHIELD, stand down!"

Brock's gun was pointed right between Lincoln's eyes. Lincoln hesitated – and lowered his hands. Brock's finger tightened on the trigger – and Bucky groaned behind him.

It had taken May less than half a second to process what she'd just seen – Captain America's shield blasting through the wall with the man himself behind it – but Rollins was already firing, bullets sparking as they bounced off the shield.

"_Stop_, Rollins, stand down. SHIELD, stand down!" she screamed it at the top of her lungs, repeating it again as she spun towards Jack and grabbed his arm, jerking it towards the sky.

The quakes stopped as Skye too realised what she was seeing, and Steve slowly lowered his shield, looking at them over it. He was in plain clothes, checked shirt and chinos, not his suit. He stared at the two small, dark-haired women and the massively tall man in between them.

"Rollins?" he said in disbelief.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing here?" Jack said, equally disbelieving. "Were you looking for Rumlow too?"

Steve hesitated. "I'm working _with_ Rumlow. He's not HYDRA."

"Nor am I." Jack could see the wariness in Steve's eyes, didn't blame him. The last time they'd seen each other, Jack had a gun to the back of his head. "They took Casey. Forced me to obey orders…"

Steve bared his teeth. "Where is she?"

"Safe, now." Jack pulled his gun away from May's grip, lowered it. "I'm with SHIELD, Cap. The _real_ SHIELD."

Neither of them understood the groan that Skye and May let out at that, but they both ignored it as Steve stepped forward, lowering his shield fully and offering his hand. "You don't know how glad I am to hear that. You're working for Fury, then?"

"No, Coulson," Jack said cheerfully before either Skye and May could stop him. He saw Steve's eyes widen. "Fuck, he still didn't tell you? It's been two _years_!" he looked at Skye, who had her hands over her mouth and was shaking her head frantically.

"Rumlow!" Steve roared. "Get over here!"

It was a minute or so before Brock appeared, supporting Bucky, who was very shaky on his feet, his metal arm hanging uselessly. Lincoln was walking alongside them, brow furrowed, muttering apologies even as he stared at Bucky's arm. Hunter and Bobbi brought up the rear, she leaning heavily on his shoulder.

"Did _you_ know Coulson was alive?" Steve demanded as Brock approached.

"You _didn't_?" Brock tilted his head. "Ah." He spied May. "Perhaps _she_ can tell you something about it. That's Melinda May, his second in command, unless my information is a long way out of date."

Steve spun back to May, stalked a few steps forward until he loomed over her. Refusing to be intimidated, she lifted her chin and glared up over the foot of height difference between them.

"I'm not telling you anything. It's not my secret to tell," she said icily.

Skye, Hunter and Bobbi all started making exasperated remarks about secrets, but Steve heard none of them, just staring down into the dark eyes of the tiny, beautiful woman who stood before him defiant, unbowed.

"I won't keep any secrets from you," he said at last.

May's lips parted on a soft gasp, but she gave no other outwards sign of shock. "I – may have to keep some from you," she said finally. "At least until Coulson gives me permission." At his grin, she wanted to kick herself. She'd just confirmed that she did indeed take orders from Coulson. But then, finding out Captain America was your soulmate would probably be enough to shock anyone into making a mistake or two.

"I can live with that," Steve said slowly, still staring into her eyes. They were so dark. He felt as though he could fall into them forever. "My God, you're _beautiful_," he said unthinkingly.

Rollins, standing right beside May, choked. Skye nearly fell over her own feet. Everyone else was staring open-mouthed as May reached up, put both hands on Steve's massive shoulders and stood on tiptoe. She was still a long way short of reaching his mouth – for a half-second, until one thick arm curled around her waist and lifted her off her feet. And then they were kissing, all teeth and tongues, nearly devouring each other, until May yanked her head back and glared around at the staring, silent audience.

"What are you lot staring at? Fuck off!"

"Language," Steve murmured, amused.

"I'll give you _language_. You'll have a whole new vocabulary by the time I'm done," she smirked before fisting both small hands in his thick blond hair and dragging his mouth back to hers again.

"Mmmmffnggh," Steve said into her mouth before falling silent.

"Look at that, punk's finally found someone who can shut his mouth up," Bucky said delightedly.

**And yes, when I expand this story, they will deal with Ward too ;)**


	148. The Shockers (DarcyLincoln)

**The Shockers**

_Lincoln/Darcy_

_SparkyShock_

**Theme song: **

**The Human League – Together In Electric Dreams (oh come ON it was obvious)**

**Note: It was stated in AoS that Lincoln had attended, but not completed, medical school.**

Darcy was very good at looking after the scientists at the new Avengers base. She made sure they ate regularly (and not just pop-tarts), slept at least a few hours out of every twenty-four, dragged them out to get sunlight whenever possible and wrangled them, for the most part, so efficiently that they didn't even realise they were being 'managed'.

Except Jane, of course. But then Jane was used to being managed by Darcy. And she was also harder work than all the rest put together, now Thor had pushed off back to Asgard and wasn't around to put his tiny girlfriend over his shoulder and carry her off to eat and sleep occasionally.

Darcy sighed and pushed her hands through her hair. What could she convince Jane to eat, that was healthy and could be managed with one hand? She frowned over the contents of the fridge. A chicken salad wrap might do the job, she thought, and started pulling out ingredients. There were several vitamin bottles on the counter, and she surveyed those when she was done with making the wraps – one for Jane, one for herself.

"Well, I can give it a try," she mumbled dubiously, and then sneezed. "God damn it, I'm coming down with something."

She helped herself to two of everything from the various bottles. God only knows who they belonged to. Sam or Rhodey, probably. They were both health nuts, muttering about having to keep up with super-powered people. Neither of them would mind if she swiped a few of their vitamins. She raided some soda from the fridge as well, and headed back to Jane's lab, balancing everything precariously in her hands. Tablets rolled around on the plates, but she managed to get there without dropping anything.

"Janey," Darcy coaxed, "here, I've made you a yummy salad wrap."

"Not now," Jane mumbled, fingers flying on the keyboard. "I – not _now_, Darcy!" as Darcy plucked lightly at her elbow.

Darcy sighed. "Fine. Bite," she held the wrap to Jane's lips. "I'll feed you, you keep typing," when Jane made a cranky noise, "but you must eat, or I'll get JOCASTA to shut this whole lab down."

"Urgh," Jane muttered, never taking her eyes from the screen, but she bit down.

Darcy managed to feed her a whole wrap and get her to drink half the soda through a straw. When she held a vitamin tablet to her lips, though, Jane protested.

"What the hell, Darce, are you trying to drug me?"

"I'm trying to keep you healthy, oh pasty one, so that you can continue to Science! away to your heart's content. It's a multivitamin, and I've got a nice supergreens supplement and a fish oil tablet for you too. That one's good for brain power," Darcy tempted.

Jane sighed and took the tablets. "Now will you please go away?" she begged. "I should only be another hour or two. Three, tops."

"Three and I'm shutting you down. You've been up since yesterday lunchtime," Darcy warned.

Jane was already lost in her data again.

Darcy sighed, collected her plate and soda can and headed over to her own little corner of the lab. She was tired enough not to feel particularly hungry, but chewed her way through the wrap and downed the vitamin tablets with her last mouthful of soda.

Getting up to toss the soda can into the trash, she suddenly started to feel really strange.

Like, _really_ strange.

"Jane," Darcy said, and the note in her voice caused the scientist to look around. "_Jane_!" it was a shriek of sudden terror, as _stone_ started forming over Darcy's body, spreading outwards from her stomach.

"Darcy!" Jane screamed in horror as the stone spread over Darcy's face. She leapt up and mashed down the red LAB EMERGENCY button situated close by her workbench.

A siren started to wail, and blast door started slamming shut.

"Dr Foster?" Natasha's cool voice said through a speaker a moment later. "Can you tell us what the issue is? The lab cameras are malfunctioning, there seems to be some kind of interference."

"It's Darcy, she's turned to stone!" Jane shrieked.

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Maria Hill's voice said "Do you mean _literally_ turned to stone?"

"Yes, and I wasn't even doing anything! We were just eating lunch!"

"I think you mean dinner, Dr Foster. It's nine pm."

"Oh." Jane glanced at the window, which of course was now covered by a blast screen. "Is that really important right now oh my God!"

"Dr Foster!" Natasha and Maria both spoke sharply. "What's happening?"

"The stone is cracking, it's falling apart…" Jane stared, hands to her mouth, thinking that statue-Darcy was about to crumble to dust. Instead, the stone began to fall away in shards, dropping to the floor, crumbling to dust as it fell, revealing Darcy standing there, wide-eyed with panic.

"Darcy!" Jane ran to her, threw her arms around her – and was sent flying back across the lab as a massive lightning bolt hit her in the chest.

"Jane!" It was Darcy's turn to shriek, and she started forward, only for lightning bolts to suddenly crackle out of her hands, earthing themselves on the floor. "Oh, this is not good. Not good!"

They sent Clint in, in the end, to shoot her at long range with a tranquiliser arrow. Jane was, amazingly, fine, just stunned.

"What the hell _is_ this?" Natasha said in an undertone to Maria as they stood looking down at Darcy, unconscious. They'd put her in a wooden bed, on a latex mattress, in a room with no metal in it at all. Sparks still crackled at the tips of her fingers occasionally, and Steve, who'd carried her up here, had kept jumping, muttering about static shocks.

Maria chewed on her lips. "I need to make a phone call," she said finally.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"Darcy Lewis?" Coulson said incredulously. "Dr Foster's assistant? The one who called me Agent iPod Thief?"

"She still does if anyone ever mentions your name," Maria said dryly. "And yes. That's the one."

"Huh. I thought we'd managed to recall all those damn bottles."

"Obviously not. I've just found one in the Avengers kitchen. Looks like it was bought a few months ago and stashed away, and someone just got it out. I counted and there's only half a dozen short from it."

Phil sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Great. That still leaves you with a brand-new Inhuman in the Avengers facility."

"Yup."

He could see Maria smirking at him. She'd thought it was a terrible idea to keep the other Inhumans a secret from the Avengers anyway. She had no objection in principle to an undercover team – that was how SHIELD had operated for many years, after all – but keeping them a secret from the Avengers? That wasn't going to end well, in her opinion.

"I don't suppose you can think of some bullshit story you could spin to them in order to get Darcy out of there and over to our facility, can you?" Phil asked eventually.

"Nope. And if I did, Wanda would pick up on it in a second. It's very hard to keep secrets around a mind-reader, Phil. Just be glad she has no idea that you're in any way important to the other Avengers, or your secret would already be out."

Phil was quiet for a minute. Maria looked at him through the video pickup, at the stump of the arm he still hadn't had time to find a substitute hand for. "Come in, Phil," she said gently. "It's time. Helen Cho can grow you a new hand in a matter of hours while your people take care of Darcy. I can keep the others off your back for that long, at least, and then you can see them."

He rubbed the fingertips of his remaining hand over his eyes, and finally nodded. "I'm being selfish. Miss Lewis' welfare needs to come before my pathetic need not to have to be faced with Captain America's 'I Am Disappointed In You' face."

That made Maria grin. "Who will you be bringing? I'll sort out your security clearance."

"Just me and Lincoln Campbell. He's our Inhuman medical expert. He'll be able to stabilise Darcy, help her get a handle on her powers. We'll be there in a couple of hours. We're not far away."

Maria nodded and cut the feed, and Phil went to find Lincoln and confess to May what he was going to do. "About bloody time," was all she said.

"Can Dr Cho really grow you a new hand?" Lincoln asked as they drove away from the base. Well, Lincoln drove. Phil still couldn't. And they were in an SUV, not Lola. He'd let Skye drive her that one time, but she was a terrible driver. She'd nearly crashed them. So his darling Lola was permanently garaged until Phil could use his hand again. Which was the main reason he hadn't done anything about it yet. None of the prosthetics he'd looked into were as capable as they'd need to be for his beloved Corvette.

"I hope so," Phil admitted. "How quickly do you think you can have Miss Lewis stabilised?"

"Pretty quick, if it only happened tonight," Lincoln shrugged. "Her body chemistry won't be too messed up, yet. Teaching her to control her power could take longer, depending what it is."

"Didn't I mention that?" Phil chuckled. "Hill told me. It's lightning."

Lincoln nearly drove off the road. Phil let out an embarrassingly girly shriek until he had the car straightened up again.

"God, _none_ of you kids can drive properly!"

"Lightning," Lincoln said wonderingly, ignoring both the girly shriek and the comment. "Static electricity – like me? I've never met anyone with the same power as me."

"I don't know if it's _exactly_ the same as yours, but it does seem rather apt for Miss Lewis. She once Tasered Thor," Phil said with a reminiscent smile.

Lincoln nearly drove off the road again.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxox

It was still dark, the early hours before dawn, when they drove up to the newly built Avengers Facility. Phil swallowed down envy of the magnificent building, the expansive grounds, the efficient guards at the gate who'd thoroughly checked their IDs. The gate's scanner had even picked up the SUV's hidden armaments – which was supposed to be quite invisible – and they'd had to switch to a golf cart the guards had provided for the final part of the drive, loading Lincoln's case of medical equipment in the back.

They were met in an underground garage by a terrified-looking junior agent who led them first to Dr Cho's labs, where Phil nodded to Lincoln and said "Don't forget what I told you" and then to a medical wing where Lincoln met Maria Hill for the first time.

And understood why the junior agent was terrified. For an extraordinarily beautiful woman not all that many years his senior, she quite successfully manage to scare the crap out of Lincoln with one long stare from icy blue eyes. He just about managed to resist the urge to click his heels together.

"Several of the Avengers are very fond of Darcy Lewis," Maria said after studying him for a long moment. "You would do well to be advised of that fact."

"Yes, ma'am," he ducked his head politely, and she nodded after another long chilly stare, opening a door.

"Whew," Lincoln whispered to himself as the door closed behind him. "Scary lady." He looked around, realised he needed to pass through another doorway to get to his patient. He could just see the foot of the bed. Taking a deep breath and hefting his medical case, he stepped forward. And stopped dead, because the girl in the bed was _gorgeous_.

Long black lashes swept porcelain-pale cheeks, her hair an inky tumble on the pillow. Plush red lips, parted slightly as she slept, drew his eye. "Hot damn," Lincoln murmured, approaching the bed mesmerised, "you're Sleeping Beauty!" he stared for several long moments, noting the heart-shaped face, the slightly-too-wide mouth, wondering what colour her eyes were. Dark, he guessed, considering how dark her hair was.

At last, he shook himself out of his trance. Sleeping Beauty needed his help, and she would wake up soon if the information Maria Hill had provided on the tranquiliser she'd been shot with was accurate. Miss Lewis – Darcy, he remembered Hill calling her – had been prepared as he requested, he noted as he drew the sheet covering her back, cloths folded over her breasts and groin to protect her modesty, but otherwise uncovered. He couldn't help but notice how delightfully curvaceous her body was, how her breasts pushed up against the white cotton laid over them, and tried to avert his eyes.

"Professional, Lincoln," he muttered to himself. "Professional." His hands were shaking as he placed the acupuncture needles, though, and he shook his head self-deprecatingly. "I really would have made a shit doctor."

"I dunno about that, you've got very gentle hands," a voice mumbled, and he started back, his eyes snapping up to look at Darcy's face.

Her eyes were blue, he thought dazedly. As blue as his own. She was squinting short-sightedly at him. "I don't suppose you've got my glasses? Because you look like you might be hot and I definitely want to get a proper look."

Lincoln found himself laughing at her brash, cheeky tone. Still stunned that she'd said his soulmark words, he took a moment to reply. "Your glasses have metal frames, I'm afraid. You can't have them right now."

"Damn," Darcy squinted down across her body. "Why? And why are there needles sticking out of me? Did Jane have some kind of crazy lab accident again?"

"Again…? No, don't tell me. It wasn't a lab accident, Darcy. You've undergone a process called Terrigenesis." He swallowed down his disappointment that she'd shown no signs of surprise or acknowledgement when he spoke.

"And what's that?" she pushed herself up to her elbows, then let out a squeak of shock as the cloth over her breasts slid away.

"Please, don't move, lie down!" Lincoln tried to both avert his eyes and push on her shoulder to make her obey. Only, the words written on her left breast caught his eye.

"No looking at the goods, buster," Darcy's eyesight was terrible without her glasses, but she could tell he was copping a stare before she lay back down and grabbed for the thin strip of cloth that had been covering her breasts.

"No, I – that's what I said. I called you Sleeping Beauty," Lincoln said, stunned. "When you were still unconscious."

Darcy's eyes narrowed. "And I said something about you having gentle hands? Show me your mark," she demanded. Congratulated herself for being suspicious when he immediately pulled off his shirt to show a very nicely muscled torso. Only, she couldn't really make out the words she could see scribbled on the curve of his right pectoral muscle.

"I really do need my glasses. I'm afraid you're going to have to let me get a closer look," she grinned up at him and crooked a finger.

Lincoln blushed. But he moved up closer to the head end of the bed and bent over to give Darcy a good look at his chest.

She got a good look at his face on the way down as well. _Mm_. Very nice, blond and blue-eyed, with a scruff of blond stubble that she suspected would feel _very_ good on her skin.

"Is it your writing?"

Darcy blinked, realising she'd been staring up at the strong line of his jaw. He looked down at her and their eyes met before she dropped hers to look at the writing just a few inches from her nose. And speaking of her nose – mmm, he smelled _really_ good.

"Darcy?" Lincoln said. She was just lying still, staring at his chest. And then she lifted a hand to very lightly touch the words etched into his skin.

Electricity sparked blue between them, and Darcy let out a shocked cry – but it didn't hurt. Quite the opposite, as Lincoln put his hand out to meet hers. She stared in amazement at the tiny blue-white lightning bolts arcing between their hands, feeling the static in every cell of her body – and it felt so _good_, her nipples pinging to attention, heat welling suddenly in her groin.

"_Darcy_," he said, low and deep, and she looked up into his eyes, realised he was feeling it too as she saw that his pupils had blown wide.

"I don't even know your name," she said, stunned, and more aroused than she'd ever been in her life.

"Lincoln," he said, his eyes dropping to the electricity still arcing between their hands. "Lincoln Campbell. I'm – the same as you are, now. Enhanced. I've never met anyone with the same power as me. I'm here to teach you how to use it."

"_Cool_," Darcy breathed. "I am a living Taser, and so is my soulmate! Do I get a cool superhero name? Do _you_ have a cool superhero name?"

Startled, Lincoln shook his head. "No, I – I don't have a code name or anything like that. My team, we're secret. Undercover." Realising he was still leaning, bare-chested, over Darcy, he straightened up, drawing his hand away. The static electricity crackled away to nothing, and they both sighed with the loss of it.

Darcy pouted. "Well that's just dull. I shall have to think of a cool code name."

"For you?" he glanced over at her as he pulled his shirt back on, was gratified to see her looking a little disappointed as he covered his chest.

She smiled at him. "For _us_. Otherwise people will call us The Shockers and that just will _not_ do."

Lincoln started to laugh. "_You're_ a shocker."

"I know. I'm Thor's Lightning Sister for real, now." It was a contented smile as she started to drift off to sleep again. "Will you be here when I wake up?" Darcy struggled to keep her eyes open.

She felt him take her hand, felt the static crackle softly through her; it felt soothing, comforting. "Of course."

"I don't want to wake and find that you were just a dream…"

"You won't." Lincoln leant over her, unable to resist, pressed his lips very lightly against hers. "Sleep, Darcy. I'll be with you when you wake." He held her hand in his until he felt her relax completely, and then withdrew it gently, stroking a stray lock of hair from her cheek. "I'll always be with you," he said softly, his eyes filled with wonder.

**I got the feeling that Lincoln had had a pretty tough life and was kinda lonely. And I think he and Darcy would make a great pair. Very glad that Luke Mitchell, the Aussie actor who plays him, has been made a season regular for Season 3 of AoS (as has Henry Simmons (Mack) in case you didn't know!)**


	149. Small Problem (Phil & Helen Cho)

**Small Problem**

_Phil Coulson/Helen Cho_

_CoulCho_

**Theme song:**

**Daniel Bedingfield – Gotta Get Thru This**

**This story follows directly on from the previous chapter, Darcy/Lincoln.**

"Don't forget what I told you," Phil warned Lincoln, saw the younger man nod before following the escorting agent back into the elevator. He had, of course, warned Lincoln not to mention his name to anyone under any circumstances.

"Mr Chandler?" a pleasant voice said, and he turned to see a pretty young Korean woman.

"Dr Cho?" he smiled, a little nervous.

"Oh no, I'm just her assistant, Emily. Please, come this way."

He was escorted into an examination room, and Emily produced an extremely large needle.

"Um?" Phil gave the needle a rather panicked look. He'd never been fond of needles, even though they'd been a regular requirement in his travels to exotic parts of the world with SHIELD.

Emily frowned at him. "Have you not been briefed on the process? We need to take a bone marrow sample from you, in order to prepare the cradle to grow the new bone and tissue for your hand."

"Oh." That sounded painful. "Where?"

"Your hip," Emily gestured. "I'll give you a small local anaesthetic first."

"I don't need to change into a gown or anything…?" Phil was feeling rather awkward.

Emily gave him a tolerant look. "You can if you wish, Mr Chandler. But it will take about three hours for the cradle to be ready once the sample has been taken, since we don't have any of your tissue samples already on file. We thought you might be more comfortable staying in your clothes until then."

He couldn't argue with that, so eventually he nodded and lay down on the examination table, awkwardly unfastened his belt and pants one-handed as he'd learned to, and eased down his boxer shorts to reveal his hip as she directed.

The local anaesthetic was a small needle he really didn't want to watch going in. So he lay and looked around the room.

"Time for the big needle, you shouldn't feel a thing," Emily said soothingly.

He _really_ wasn't going to watch _that_ thing going in. A movement outside the door caught his eye, and he found himself staring at an extraordinarily lovely Korean woman coming in to join them.

"Here's Dr Cho now," Emily murmured, sparing a slight glance away from her task.

Feeling supremely uncomfortable lying there with his pants open, slightly knocked sideways by the famous doctor's beauty – no one had mentioned she was stunning enough to be a model, Jemma always just raved about her brain and how it was likely she'd win a Nobel Prize in the next year or two – Phil attempted to mask his discomfort with humour.

"I hear you're the one who can give me a hand with this?" he waved his stump in the air.

Helen Cho's beautiful dark eyes widened.

_Oh God, now she thinks I'm a complete dork._

"Done," Emily said triumphantly.

"Thank you, Emily," Helen murmured. "If you would go and prepare the cradle?"

"Of course, Dr Cho," Emily capped the needle and hurried away.

Helen slid the door closed, turning to look at Phil, who was awkwardly closing his pants back up, a flush burning on his cheeks. "I beg your pardon, Dr Cho, that was an inappropriate thing to say…"

She laughed, a soft silvery chime. "It might have been inappropriate if_ I_ said it, but you're allowed to joke about your own misfortune."

Phil, attempting to get up, discovered that his stomach muscles weren't quite as strong as he would have liked, lost his balance and rolled off the examination table, landing with a crash at her feet.

"Are you all right?" Helen knelt hastily to help him.

"This all feels like one of those really bizarrely awful dreams when you find yourself sitting your final exams naked. Or, you know, make a complete idiot of yourself on first meeting your soulmate." Phil met her eyes sheepishly, and she began to giggle, covering her mouth with her fingers.

"It could be worse," she got out between giggles. "I could have come in just as you were getting into the cradle bare-ass naked."

"I have to… of _course_ I do." He sighed, getting to his feet with her gentle assistance. "Because I couldn't possibly have made a worse first impression on you, now I have to get naked in front of you too."

"I don't know, at least you've shown me that you have a sense of humour, even if it is a little dark," Helen smiled. "It's Paul, isn't it?"

Phil winced. "I'm afraid not. Paul Chandler is an alias. Maria Hill knows my real name, and the reasons why I'm keeping it a secret."

Helen stared at him. "And are you planning to tell _me_, at some point?" she asked.

"I'll have to, now." He reached out and closed the door. "It might not mean anything to you, yet. But please don't repeat it to anyone until I tell you it's okay."

She nodded, slowly, her dark eyes intent on his face.

"It's Phil Coulson. Agent Phil Coulson – Director, actually, I'm the Director of SHIELD."

Helen's mouth fell open. "Not _mean_ anything to me?" she said incredulously. "But of _course_ it does, the Avengers talk about you often! Thor calls you 'Son of Coul' and he said you… were…"

"Killed by his brother?"

"I was going to say, one of the bravest men he had ever known, but yes. That too." Helen frowned. "That explains, I suppose, why my soulmark faded out for about a week. I assumed you were killed in the Battle of New York."

"Just before it, technically."

"How…?"

Of course, she would want to know. He could see the light in her eyes, the thirst for medical knowledge.

"A very dangerous experimental drug sourced from a non-human cadaver. It no longer exists," Phil said succinctly, "and it had some unfortunate side-effects, of which I _hope_ the worst have passed." He held up a hand when she obviously wasn't satisfied with the answer. "Classified, Helen. And truly, the source is gone. The drug can't be replicated. There are no existing samples to work from, and believe me my top scientist has tried to isolate the compounds from my blood samples."

"Hmmm." She gave him a doubtful look, and then smiled sunnily. "Well, that's as may be. I daresay I should just be glad that it was available for _you_, that you're alive."

"I was stupid and over-confident," Phil admitted, "I thought that because soulmark words are a guarantee, that I couldn't die until I'd met you."

Her slender, long-fingered hand closed over his in a surprisingly firm grasp. "Well, perhaps then it was fate that there was a way you could come back to life. Luckily for me."

Phil realised that he was grinning at her quite foolishly. He attempted to govern the expression, with, he suspected, limited success. "I understand it's going to be a while before the cradle is ready for me," he said. "Perhaps you would like to come and get a coffee with me, before I have to show you my unfortunately pasty and not very muscular naked body?"

Helen giggled again, twined her fingers with his. "I'd like that. The coffee, I mean. Oh dear. I think your awkwardness is catching."

Phil grinned. "You're _my_ soulmate. I'd be pretty stunned if you didn't have the occasional awkward moment. I seem to have quite a lot of them."

Emily glanced up as they came out, blinked in surprise at the sight of her demure, serene boss giggling like a schoolgirl as she walked hand in hand through the lab with their latest patient.

"Back in a bit, Emily!" Helen called merrily, leading Phil into her office and closing the door.

Emily was even more surprised to see both of them looking rather mussed when they came out a couple of hours later. Surely Dr Cho hadn't been – with a _patient_? She blinked disbelievingly at them, even more disbelieving when Helen dismissed her.

"I'll take it from here," Helen said airily. "Take a break for a while."

There wasn't much she could say but "Yes, Dr Cho," and leave, still sneaking curious looks at them.

"She looks as though she didn't expect to be sent out," Phil said as the door closed.

"Well, probably not. I don't usually see patients alone here, especially male patients. Because of the naked factor." Helen smiled up at him. "But I really don't think I'd like her eyeing up my soulmate."

Phil found himself flushing again. They hadn't gone beyond a few extremely heated kisses in her office, but her words reminded him that he was going to have to strip off. "I don't suppose you'd care to reciprocate?" he said hopefully.

"Later, darling." She folded her arms and grinned at him.

"You have a low sense of humour," he groused.

"I am _your_ soulmate," she threw his words back at him, grinning still wider. "Tell you what. Why don't I help?" She came closer, eased his tie loose from his collar, began to unbutton his shirt.

"Oh, uh, bad idea!" Phil squeaked, flustered, as her fingers danced lightly over his chest and he was suddenly very aroused.

"Really, why?" she fluttered long black eyelashes, and he surrendered with a groan, dragging her close against him and kissing her thoroughly again.

"I'm afraid you know all too well why," he muttered between kisses.

Helen giggled. She certainly _could_ tell why. She pulled back, finished unbuttoning his shirt and pushed it back off his shoulders, smiling at she got a good look at him. "You were selling yourself short, Phil," her fingers traced delicately across his chest, across defined pectoral muscles, drifted down towards his flat stomach. She stalled at the thick white scar tissue in the centre of his chest for a moment before moving on, reaching for his belt.

"You work with Avengers," Phil muttered sheepishly, "I'm pretty sure I don't measure up well…"

"You measure up just fine." Her slender hand slipped inside his pants, her eyes widening, soft lips curving up in a mischievous smile. "_More_ than fine."

xoxoxoxoxox

Phil's eyes fluttered slowly open and he stared at the plain white ceiling.

His hand hurt. The same, phantom pain he'd been feeling ever since Mack cut it off and saved his life in the process. He groaned and shut his eyes.

"Was it all a dream?"

"Was what all a dream?" a soft voice inquired, and he snapped his head to the side, saw Helen sitting in a chair beside his hospital bed, a medical journal in her hands. She smiled softly at him, and he remembered – remembered how she had laughingly told him to relax before going to her knees before him, how he had indeed been utterly relaxed when she made him lie down inside the cradle before sliding a needle so gently into his arm he hadn't even felt it.

"_Count backwards from ten,"_ her soft voice had ordered, and he hadn't even reached seven before the world faded out.

"Did it work?" he couldn't bear to look. "It's still painful…"

"Well, the bones _are_ brand new. It'll ache for a few days while they're setting and hardening properly." She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling, and he lifted his left hand slowly, staring at it. It was encased from elbow to fingertips in what looked like a clear resin. But it was _whole_.

"We'll be able to take that off in about a week."

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" Phil asked wonderingly, lowering his arm and gazing at her.

"I can't imagine. But you're stuck with me now." Her smile was a little nervous. "There's a small problem, though."

"What's that?" he was still a little groggy from the anaesthetic, or he might have guessed.

"Well, Natasha was bored and playing around in the facility security system and she happened to notice that Hill had time-looped the cameras in my labs."

It took Phil a moment to realise what must have happened. His eyes widened in horror. Helen smiled weakly and gestured beyond him. He was almost afraid to look, but he turned his head.

Standing, arms folded, behind a large glass window was a long row of Avengers, every one of them wearing a disappointed expression.

"Oh, _shit_."

**Oops.**

**I just wanted dorky!Phil making a complete idiot of himself in front of his poised, beautiful soulmate, and then discovering that she can be a bit of a dork too, of course. I loved Helen Cho in **_**Age of Ultron **_**– started shipping her with Clint for some weird reason – and she will definitely be appearing in future pairings!**


	150. Alternative Arrangements (May & Odin)

**Alternative Arrangements**

May/Odin

Maydin?

**Theme song:**

**Queen – Killer Queen**

**I'm blaming Pinkpandoracorn for this. She wrote Darcy/Odin, a definite WTF pairing, but it started me thinking about Frigga and how she was a true warrior behind all that quiet serenity. Obviously Odin likes badass ladies. And there's none more badass than Melinda May.**

**Soooo… this is set a short time in the MCU future. On Thor returning to Asgard at the end of AoU, he found that Loki was alive and had been standing in for Odin while Odin refreshed himself in the Odinsleep. Sif accidentally lets slip that she's been doing missions on Earth, and when pressed by Thor completely fails at lying to him and winds up confessing Coulson's secret.**

**Thor decides to confront Coulson himself. He's preparing to head back to Midgard when Odin stuns him by announcing that he will accompany him. Loki will mind the throne for a while, with Sif to watch his back.**

"But – why, Father?" Thor said blankly.

"It has been long since I walked on Midgard's soil," Odin said, "but it has become increasingly clear to me that humans have taken a great leap in evolution in recent years. Their technology advances at a pace so rapid that, if it continues at this rate, they will equal or surpass any in the Realms within a century or two. It behooves us, my son, to gain a better understanding of them; indeed, to make them our allies. You understood this before I." He smiled indulgently, inclining his head. "Only now do I recognise your wisdom."

Thor did his best not to gape. Odin was _agreeing_ with him about humanity's potential? Calling him _wise_?

Odin saw the look his son gave him, shook his head. "You, Loki and Sif have all spoken to me of the Son of Coul. Of his bravery, his intelligence. Of his willingness to protect his people, even if he must lay down his life in the doing. He is a true ruler and I wish to meet with him. To forge an alliance."

"I am sure the Son of Coul would be willing to negotiate, Father," Thor surrendered to the inevitable.

"My liege," Heimdall bowed his head as the pair entered the Bifrost chamber. "My prince." He glanced at Thor.

"We are going to visit the Son of Coul, Heimdall," Odin said calmly. "I will call for you when I wish to return."

"You are not taking Gungnir, my liege?" Heimdall glanced at Odin's empty hand.

"I leave it in Loki's guardianship, for the time being. Huginn and Muninn also remain," Odin added, and Heimdall nodded with another slight smile.

"I fear only for your safety, my liege…"

"My son will ensure it," Odin nodded towards Mjolnir, held in Thor's hand, and Heimdall pressed the point no longer. They were on their way in moments, the Bifrost depositing them on a road which appeared to lead absolutely nowhere.

"What the…" Thor began, but Odin held up a hand.

"The Son of Coul has hidden from the eyes of your friend Stark and all his technological expertise thus far, Thor, how could that be so if he were in plain sight? Surely his location must be hidden somehow. How better than underground?" He gestured to the sheer rock face in front of them, then at the ground beneath their feet. "This road shows signs of use."

Thor shook his head, disgusted with himself. "As always, Father, you see better with one eye than I ever will with two."

Odin smiled. "Only because I _look_," he jested.

"And how, perforce, shall we break this formidable barrier?" Thor examined the apparently solid rock face.

"We could knock?" Odin borrowed Mjolnir from his hand and tapped lightly on the stone.

There was no response for a few moments, and Odin made to knock again, until a cool voice above them made them both start.

"Who the _hell_ are you and how did you get here?"

They both looked up. At the top of the rock face above their heads stood a woman, slight of stature, dark of hair and eye. In each hand she held a gun, covering both of them steadily.

"I am Thor Odinson, and this is my father, Odin, King of Asgard," Thor said cheerfully. "We seek audience with the Son of Coul."

She stared at them for a long moment. Examined Odin's face a good deal longer than Thor's, as he handed Mjolnir back to his son. And then she said abruptly;

"Wait," before stepping backwards and disappearing from their view.

"You mentioned to me that the women of this time have taken up arms and become warriors," Odin said to Thor. "This one seems quite fierce."

"She is of SHIELD," Thor replied, "as is the Son of Coul – as are my friends the Widow in Black and Eyes of Hawk. I doubt not her skill as a warrior."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," a voice said dryly behind them, and they both jumped and whirled around to find that a concealed door in the rock face had slid soundlessly open and the slight dark-haired woman stood there.

"You pardon, m'lady," Odin said, feeling a faint flush trying to crawl up his cheeks. To be caught talking about a lady behind her back was the height of bad manners. To cover his embarrassment, he bowed slightly to her. She was _very_ small, a good deal shorter than he had realised when she stood high above their heads. Smaller even than Thor's Midgardian lady. He extended his hand to her, saying, "I do not have the honour of your acquaintance. I am Odin Borson, King of Asgard."

"Yes, I heard Thor say that," she studied him from those dark eyes, which were even finer than he had realised; at this close range he could see how long, how delicate her eyelashes were, as she looked up at him fearlessly. "I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty." Endearingly, she crossed her ankles and made a clumsy attempt at a curtsey, looking all the more awkward since she wore close-fitting black trousers instead of skirts, beneath a tight black animal-hide jacket.

Odin suppressed the impulse to laugh. Thor snorted.

"Indeed, my lady…?" Odin looked at her enquiringly.

"Oh! Melinda May. Agent Melinda May."

It had been a long, long time since May had felt flustered in any man's presence. And yet, now she was, and not by the tall blond demi-god whose image she'd privately confessed to admiring in the past. No, it was the equally tall _father_ of Thor, Odin All-Father, King of an entire realm and guardian of eight more, who had her suddenly feeling like an awkward schoolgirl again. As she rose from her awkward curtsey – and _what_ had possessed her to do that, she must have looked like an absolute _idiot_ and Thor was clearly laughing at her – she saw his outstretched hand, put out her own, and flushed as she realised she still had a gun in it.

Hastily, she sheathed the gun and held her hand out again, mentally kicking herself; she'd made a _terrible_ first impression. He'd never take her seriously now.

Warm, and not at all gnarled and old, fingers curled around hers, and Odin lifted her hand towards his mouth. He didn't get there, though, before a steadily building tingle of pain made them both look down at their hands.

Odin's thumb had landed on the back of her hand first, before his fingers curled under her palm, and it was on the back of her hand that the runes appeared, etched in black and silver.

"What the hell is that?" May gaped at the marks. "Did you put some kind of _spell_…"

"It is my name," Odin's single, crystal blue eye flickered up to hers, wide with wonder. He raised his thumb and she sucked in a sharp breath as she saw her _signature_ written along it, sharp and black.

"What? _Why_?"

"Here on Midgard, among your kind, the words first spoken to each other by soulmates appear upon your bodies," Odin said, still staring at her with a kind of awe. "In other Realms, marks such as these appear at the first touch of skin upon skin."

"_Soulmates_?" she gaped at him. Turned to stare incredulously at Thor, who looked about as stunned as she felt. "But. Queen Frigga?"

"Three thousand years I searched for you," Odin's voice was low, rough. "When it came time for me to ascend the throne, my advisors pushed for me to take a wife, get an heir. Vanaheim offered a princess as a political alliance between Realms; I liked her well enough, grew to love her in time. I respected Frigga deeply, and though she swore she would step aside if I found my soulmate, I have not permitted my skin to touch that of another woman for almost two thousand years, out of respect for her. Since her death, though, I confess I have been lonely. I have made a conscious effort to touch, in some way, every woman who has crossed my path. I did not, though, dream that I might find you so soon. Not after so long a wait."

May was speechless. Five thousand years. Her soulmate was _five thousand_ years old.

Odin's eyes crinkled up at the corners. "Perhaps I should not be surprised, though. My tastes have always run to warrior women."

It was Thor who let out a great roar of laughter. "May I call you Stepmother?" he gasped out between deep, rumbling chuckles. "Oh, Father, I cannot _wait_ to see Loki's face."

May gave him a glare, but couldn't quite stop from looking back at Odin in wonder.

"It wasn't _quite_ the kind of alliance I had in mind," Odin was smiling down at her now, his own expression somewhat awed, "but I find myself more than satisfied with this alternative arrangement."

**May would absolutely KICK ASS as Queen of Asgard. She'd have them all TERRIFIED of her in no time flat.**

**Now, I have to tell y'all that I'm ending this fic here.**

… **and starting a Part Two, before you start screaming in hysterics. At 150 chapters, and almost that many pairings, the tags are OUT OF CONTROL. You'll need to subscribe to me as an author, and not just to this fic, in order to get notified when the new one starts. Chapter 1 will be the Index, as in this one.**

**And if you didn't read my new Peggy Carter headcanon fic, **_**Bionic Battle Granny**_**, allow me to recommend it now ;). It's my first completed crackfic. No doubt battlegranny!Peggy will make cameos in future fics of mine, if not in the Shorts. Though I can see the interfering old bat taking it upon herself to make some unlikely matches and being proved right every time, like some impossibly interfering Cupid…**


	151. Advisory Note

ADVISORY NOTE

If you haven't already got a notification for it, you may wish to know that Part 2 of the Soulmate Shorts has started posting. The fic's name is The Crackship Armada Sails Again, AKA Soulmate Shorts Part 2, and the first pairing up is Bucky Barnes/Kitty Pryde.

Happy reading!


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